


Welcome to Paradise

by 1001101



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Sexual Slavery, Smut, idk what else to tag if you think i missed something pls let me know, kinda you judge but better safe than sorry yeah?, like huge ones so bear with me, prince!harry, slave!zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4188858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001101/pseuds/1001101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orignally written for this prompt on the 1dkinkmeme back in 2012: http://1dkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6856.html?thread=8968648#t8968648</p><p>Basically a historical AU set around the 1600s where Harry is the spoilt heir to the throne of England. When Harry's lifelong personal servant Mary mysteriously disappears, she is replaced by a teenage boy that goes by the name of Zayn. Harry is in lust with him instantly.<br/>Featuring Louis as a duke and Harry's best friend, Liam as a servant and Zayn's roommate, and Niall as Harry and Louis' tutor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Disclaimer: I do not own the boys; this story is completely fictional; etc, etc.
> 
> 2\. I initially wrote this as a fill on the kink meme and wrote everything but the ending back in 2012. The reason that I didn't finish it was mainly that I stopped liking it and the way I'd written certain things. Then a couple of days ago I was going through my browser bookmarks and saw that there were people reading it still and I felt like I owed it to them (and the OP of course) to give it a proper ending.
> 
> 3\. I didn't post it on AO3 or anywhere else back then because I hadn't made this account yet at the time.
> 
> I hope you really like it and to the people who read it when I was first writing it I'm sorry that I left you hanging for so long, hopefully the ending is worth it. That's it I guess, enjoy :) -- M

Prince Harold Styles was the second of the three children of the king and queen of England. He was the second of three siblings: Himself, Gemma, and Edward. Ever since he was born, four years after his sister, he received preferential treatment from everyone around him. His parents pressured him to be the heir of the throne, even though Gemma was technically the first in line. He was special. He was charming and witty, almost mischievous. He liked to play games, something that neither his parents nor the servants were very keen on but nobody could say no to that angelical face. Although well educated in the arts and a fine sportsman, never in his life did he need to fend for himself. Only Mary, his lifelong personal servant, could put up with his fits. Mary was loving and caring and greatly devoted to her master. He came first before anything in her life and Harry knew that. Sometimes, when he got bored, he would be cruel to her for loving him so much. She never complained and instead understood, and it would drive Harry mad that someone could be so good.

Harry was eighteen now, soon to be king. His father’s health and strong hand were not what they used to be. His mother had to step in on occasion to keep the kingdom under control. There was some doubt as to how the young price would rule once his father died. People talked. It was not that the prince was weak of character or just plain moronic. He was trained well in fine arts and war and politics, all that a fair sovereign needed. He was intelligent, there was no questioning that, but he was flighty and kind of frivolous. One couldn’t blame him, though. We’re talking about a boy that grew up in the lap of luxury, never once having seen the true poverty that some of his subjects lived in. Only the finest silks to sleep in; expensive fur to warm him in the cold winters; the rarest delicacies for dinner. All of this was ordinary to him. His great problem, his tutor once told him, was boredom. Harold threw a tantrum at that and refused to eat for a week.

Spring was in bloom. The smell of fresh flowers intruding through the balcony and windows woke up the prince. He rolled in bed for a bit and yawned. It was Thursday, which meant he had riding lessons that day in his private stables. He rubbed his eyes and reached for the bell on the nightstand through the veil covering his bed. Yawning again, he ringed the bell. Soon, Mary would come in to open the curtains and set breakfast on the table for him; maybe scold him a bit too for having drunk so much the night before. But the knock on the door was not the familiar little jingle and, as the door opened, it was not Mary who came in holding the silver tray. In her place, there was a young boy. The heir was surprised to see a slender, golden-skinned boy with deep eyes whose true colour he could not quite make out. His hair was black and thick and it stood up in a quiff streaked blonde on the front that did things for Harry. He was dressed in the typical black, tight servant’s uniform that up until then he had sworn wouldn’t fit the most beautiful of creatures. Apparently, he had been wrong.

Harry lay sprawled across the bed comfortably. Once the servant came in, he crawled in a cat-like manner across the sheets and rested his head on the gold-decorated footboard, staring unashamedly up and down the boy’s body. The other just avoided the scrutiny, concentrating on the tray. “Who are you?” The prince finally spoke from his position.

“I’m your new personal servant, my lord.” The boy’s voice was deep and unknowingly sexy. He stared at the floor as he spoke, probably a tip from the other members of the staff. Harry scoffed.

“I already have a personal servant. Where is Mary? Is it her day off?” The other boy was now very uncomfortable at the seemingly demeaning tone the prince had taken up. Was this what he was to expect every morning from then on?

“She—she’s gone missing, my lord.” The servant stuttered.

“What do you mean she’s gone missing? Is nobody going to look for her?” The prince yelled as he stood up and off the bed.

“I—don’t know, sir.” He backed away. “I’m—I’m new here.” He hated the way his cheeks flushed under his master’s intense gaze.

Harry massaged his temples as the other stood in the middle of the room paralysed. A few uncomfortable seconds passed. When he looked up again, he snapped, “What are you still doing here? You’re dismissed.” The awkward boy immediately turned around, placing the tray on the table, and left the room.

 

“So, how was your first day?” The brown-eyed boy asked as he hung a piece of clothing on the rack. He had become friends with Liam, one of the helpers inside, since the first day he set foot in the castle. He was taller than him and older, too. He was part of the cleaning staff (washing clothes, dishes, that sort of deal) which the other had been meant to be as well until Mary disappeared and he had been ‘promoted.’

“He doesn’t seem to like me much.” The other said with disdain.

“Now, now, that’s not your fault. Prince Harold was very fond of his previous servant. She raised him, you see. The king and queen never have time for their children, so instead they are raised by tutors and attendants. Mary was particularly loving and I’m pretty sure his Highness would have given his title for her if he had to. She was like a mother to him.” Liam explained.

“So he’ll hate me for replacing her, then?” The boy asked while he held out some more cloths to Liam.

“I don’t think that will happen. If he demands for you to stop being his servant, he’ll have to get another one anyway, because I highly doubt he’ll start taking his meals in the dining hall all of a sudden, I reckon.” Liam finished his task and looked at his companion with a sympathetic look. “I’m sure he’ll get over it soon enough.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” He said sulkily as he followed the other back into the kitchen.

“Don’t be daft. That’s just not possible. So you got a rough start, so what? What did you expect either way?” He didn’t respond to that. He hadn’t really known what to expect from life as a servant. It sure, though, had to be better than guarding some door at all times for the rest of his days or pick up sacks only to grow old and have to teach his kids how to pick up sacks.

 

“Mary has gone missing.” He announced to Louis once they were deep into their private riding trail. They had been training for an hour or so, not saying much, and Louis not pushing it as he well knew how to handle Harry’s temper. Harry was riding his favourite horse, Cocoa. They’d been together since his Lordship first started riding and had been inseparable ever since. She knew everything about him. Sometimes Louis doubted whether if he was talking to the horse or to him. This was one of those times.

Louis was Harry’s best friend. He had always been. He was also royal, not a king but a duke of great importance as well. They had grown up together in the palace, his mother wanting him to get the best education he could, and what better than along with the king-to-be himself? They had become the only person the other truly trusted. They had learned together how to read, how to sing, how to ride, and so on. They even had their first kiss together on a drunken New Year’s Eve night. When they were fourteen, Harry’s family offered an ostentatious banquet to celebrate the occasion. They were up in the roof, given they were too intoxicated to dance any more. A tickle fight turned into laughter and laughter turned into stillness, which in turn resulted in Louis suddenly noticing how big and green Harry’s eyes really were and how red and full his lips looked and the next thing you know Harry’s ridiculously full lips were brushing his while, in return, he tugged on his friend’s hair. Neither of them could quite remember how that evening ended. That night led to others. They then decided against a relationship because who in the world—specially the royal one—had time for monogamy? Certainly not them. Besides, their relationship was way too complicated for a regular label. It was better just to have their separate occasional lovers and fuck each other whenever they felt like it.

This was their private time, where they exchanged secrets and confessions, a time only for their own, where the royal responsibilities did not apply. “Some boy came in today instead of her to bring me breakfast. He said they didn’t know where she was and that he was her replacement. Can you believe that? Like she could ever be replaced, and by a kid.” The last word was pronounced with a distinctive scorn.

“I thought they’d stopped using children as attendants after the tea-with-the-French incident.” Louis commented as he concentrated on an unbelievably fascinating… tree?

“Well, he’s not a kid-kid,” he gestured with his head, “But he’s—he’s not Mary!” He slowed down the horse, indicating it to go between the pines. Louis followed.

“I know, love. No one will ever compare to her. On the bright side, at least he doesn’t have to change your diapers like she used to.”

“I wouldn’t have much of a problem letting him.” Harry smirked.

“Oh no, I see where this is going. You are not sleeping with the help again.” They arrived at a little clearing by the water’s edge. It was beautifully decorated with flowers and low, thick trees that hid them from civilisation. It was their designated place for rest.

“Well, I don’t think he’d want to, anyway. Boys aren’t as slutty and desperate as girls. I don’t even know if he’s interested in—you know.” Harry gestured to his body with his hands and Louis giggled.

“Who cares? He is a slave after all, isn’t he?” He mimicked pondering.

“Louis! We are not barbarians! I can’t just force him into having sex with me just because my family owns him. That wouldn’t even be enjoyable.” Harry protested as he stretched out on the grass, enjoying the warm morning sun.

“You don’t actually have to bum him... Just—what’s the right way to put it? Pun intended—,” he sniggered. “Explicitly demand for him to blow you. Or give you a hand job on a lazy Saturday morning, what do I know? Get creative. Whatever you want, that’s what they’re there for.” Louis was now lying on his back, watching the light seep through the leaves and presumably talking with both his mouth and his hands.

“I suddenly feel very bad for all your servants. Have you ever actually asked for it?” Harry spoke in disbelief.

“More like ordered.” He corrected. “They’re usually the ones to suggest it, though. I am just that good-looking. But that’s what I’ve got you for anyway, babe. The royals are the kinkiest.” He winked.

“What are you implying, darling? If you want me, you just have to say it.” Harry turned to pose on his side, crossing one leg over the other.

Louis sniggered, as he so often did. He rolled over on top of Harry and took his face between his palms. He leaned in and kissed him softly. “I’m sorry Mary’s gone.” He murmured while removing a stray curl from the Prince’s forehead. Leaning down once more, he kissed the other again, this time with more fervour. “By the way,” he chirped, “What are you doing this afternoon? Tell me you’re free.” 

 

He was summoned to the Prince’s chambers again around six o’clock and instructed to bring up a special request he had made to the cook. The servant pushed open the door and walked silently across the room to where the table by the window was placed. He hadn’t even noticed there was someone in the alcove when, “And who would you be?” A high-pitched voice asked excitedly from the bed.

He turned on his heel and saw two figures lying on the bed with their limbs tangled, visibly naked. The sheets stuck to them with sweat and there were stains all over the wine-coloured linens. He could only but imagine what had been happening just moments ago. The blue-eyed boy, who he assumed had been the one to make the question, was drawing playful circles on the Prince’s chest. “I’m his majesty’s new servant—sir.”

“Yes, yes, I know that. I meant what is your name?” Louis over-pronounced for emphasis. He felt the burning stare of his master on him once again.

“Zayn.” He managed to mumble out.

“Mmm, beautiful name, don’t you think, my love?” Zayn had the decency to look down while the smaller boy ran his fingernail across the crease of Harry’s lower lip. “Now that we’re introducing each other: I’m Louis, nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure, sir.” And with that, Zayn rushed across the room and left, locking the door behind him.

“You forgot to tell me how hot he is!” Louis squealed and then bit his own thumb.

“You never asked.” Harry chuckled in reply.

“You just want him all to yourself. Fine, you can have him. Did you see the look on his face when he saw me in here with you, though? He went bright red! Priceless.” Louis threw himself on the pillow laughing shallowly as Harry shook his head.

It was now Harry who turned to kiss Louis affectionately. Kissing still, he rolled both of them around so that he was on top of Louis. He slipped a hand between the smaller boy’s legs and spread them apart. With a swift movement, he pushed his cock inside without warning. Louis cried out in pain because, as stretched open as he was already, it still hurt like hell. Harry knew he liked it rough, though, so kept a slow, steady pace pushing in and out, not giving him time to really adjust. A few more minutes of hard pounding and Harry was coming deep inside Louis, then pulling out and leaving him unfinished.

Louis whimpered in protest but to no avail. “Where did that come from?” He whined.

“I just… Uh, you’re amazing.” Harry let out between breaths.

“You bloody wanker,” yelled Louis. “At least tell me you weren’t picturing his face over mine.” Harry winked once more.

 

“Why the pale face?” Liam asked throwing a grape onto the air and catching it with his mouth. “What’d he do?”

“I went up to his chambers to bring him what he ordered and well—um—he was with a man. Um, he had blue eyes and chestnut hair and um—he said his name was Louis? Does this happen very often? Because I want to believe it’s not just my terrible luck.” Zayn flopped down on a couch in him and Liam’s tiny bedroom on the service building. Liam had been there since he could remember. All of the staff loved and appreciated him. He was a hard worker and discreet attendant. If he wasn’t so clumsy, they would have probably made him a butler. He was one of the few that slept alone due to his loud snoring; that is until Zayn came in and they put them together. The boy didn’t seem to perceive the horrid noises at all, which was a true blessing because Liam really appreciated the company at night.

“Ah, yes. Don’t worry. That’s the Duke of Yorkshire. They’re inseparable in every way. It’s happened to everyone, you’ll get used to it. Now cheer up, tea’s in five minutes.” He patted the younger boy on the shoulder and walked out.

 

“Good morning.” A voice called from somewhere. Zayn had brought in the next day’s breakfast and, seeing there appeared to be no one in the residence, allowed himself to give a better look around. The double door led to an immense bedroom with a high-ceiling from which a golden chandelier lamp hung. The opposite wall held several long, fixed windows that let in the first rays of sunshine. The huge bed was in the middle, covered by an expensive-looking veil. To the left there was what looked like a study with high bookcases and to the right, the bathroom, where the voice had come from.

“Your majesty—I didn’t realise you were in here. I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I’ll go.” Zayn blushed.

“Don’t,” the Prince stopped him in his tracks, “Come in here, please?” The servant followed to find Harry standing in front of a mirror. He discovered a room covered in marble with a bath ready for the Prince. “Help me untie my nightshirt.” He gestured to the little knot on the back of the collar.

Zayn didn’t reply but obliged, finding the task rather easy. In a couple of seconds it was untied and the thin fabric slipped from the Prince’s toned body and fell around his ankles. Harry didn’t seem uncomfortable at all with Zayn seeing his nakedness, but then again, just the evening before he had let him in to him and his lover while they were doing things Zayn was sure a nun wouldn’t approve of.

He let his eyes roam the other boy’s body shamelessly. He noticed the royal man’s curls, the way they flattered and caressed his face. His marble white skin with the occasional speck. Long eyelashes that shielded perfect, green irises. A long neck gave way to prominent collarbones from which strong arms were displayed. His back had defined muscles and, for a second, Zayn wanted to touch those shoulder blades. His eyes went lower to his back dimples and the curve of his arse. God, what a fit bum he had.

“You can go now.” Announced the Prince.

 

“Well, you look cheerful this morning. I told you having sex with the servant would be fun. What’s he into?” Said Louis as a form of greeting.

“You’re terrible! And I didn’t so save the slavery jokes.” He moved his hands dramatically. “What I will tell you is that he is interested after all.” 

“But the cuffs! And the tying with chains! And the ending everything with ‘my lord!’ Come on! You’re killing me here.” Louis pointed dramatically to his heart, which appeared to be in his right bicep. “But he is? How do you know? But that’s great, now all we have to do is get him to admit it so you can sleep with the hot servant.” Louis wiggled his eyebrows.

“I think I can do that.” Declared Harry.

“Mmm… How to get in the pants of a slave: that shouldn’t be too hard.” He commented.

He was wrong. Zayn would dismiss any and all attempts Harry made at subtle flirting. …so he moved on to more explicit techniques.

 

The following week Zayn got summoned in the middle of the afternoon to bring a snack to his Highness, who turned out to be in the midst of a bubble bath and felt like having a bowl of strawberries covered with white chocolate. He also felt like being fed by Zayn of all people, so he had to hold out fruit to the boy’s mouth while he kept eye contact every time he had a bite. And of course, the Prince didn’t bother to wipe off the chocolate that smeared around his mouth.

On Friday, he decided all he would eat was bananas, and that Zayn was to keep him company in every meal Louis couldn’t be around for. So Zayn stood there that sunny morning in Harry’s private terrace, feeling the rays stroke his golden skin and make it glitter, watching Harry. The Prince took as big of a mouthful as he could each time, leading to an uncontrollably blushing servant and Harry giggling at him like a child.

The next day, Harry and the Duke decided it was a lovely day to go swimming in their pool. Zayn was summoned once again, not to bring food but oil, which he was to put all over Harry’s body. That was the first time he got to actually touch the boy. It woke something in him that he knew was wrong and only led downhill. But he couldn’t ignore it, he was just sixteen, and quite frankly, the Prince was not hideous at all. Zayn let his mind—and his eyes—go places he’d never allowed before.

Later that week, as Zayn headed for the door after delivering a book from the library to his Majesty, he was about to touch the handle when a pair of warm hands made their way into his hips. “For me there are no boundaries or limits, whatsoever I desire is mine.” The words were whispered with rhythm against Zayn’s ear and as soon as the last one was pronounced, all contact was gone.

 

“Liam, are you awake?” Asked Zayn once the lights were out.

“I am now.” The words came out as more of a grunt.

“Do you only talk in clichés?” Mocked the younger boy.

“Is there anything you want, Zayn?” Liam and Zayn had come to be closer as Zayn got used to being a servant in the palace. Liam was kind to Zayn and always updated him with the latest gossip.

“I… think I have a problem.” He confessed. He could trust Liam with anything, right?

“What kind of problem? Are you okay? What did you do?” In the palace, sometimes the servants made mistakes, and sometimes those mistakes cost them their heads. Metaphorically speaking, of course—most of the time. Like that time a messenger delivered a letter to the queen instead of the king and it turned out to be from the king’s mistress. The queen got a new set of diamonds and, well; the messenger got his head chopped off by king’s command. Liam liked Zayn, he wanted him to last around but he couldn’t do anything if it was too big of an error.

“I haven’t done anything, chill. Your stories have talked me out of any possible slip. Except—I just—do you find Prince Harry attractive? I don’t even know which way you swing but do you think he’s—I don’t know—handsome?” Zayn had a tendency to ramble when he was talking about personal things that could possibly bring him embarrassment, which ended up embarrassing him more than the thing itself.

“I like guys. And Harry wouldn’t really be my type but I guess he is attractive. Why? Do you have a crush on him?” Zayn couldn’t be more thankful that this conversation was happening in the dark because his face had turned an outstanding shade of crimson. 

“It’s not a crush!” Blurted Zayn as hushed as he could manage. “I just… He flirts. And I can take the looks and blown kisses but it’s the strawberries and the bananas, man. I can’t handle those any more. I’m gonna go mad.” He whined.

“The what?” In the dark, Zayn thought he heard Liam choke.

“Nothing. He—he orders food and forces me to watch him eat it or feed it to him and—his mouth is sinful, I’m telling ya’.” Liam cracked up.

“My advice is, leave it. Don’t fall into it, just let him have his fun and it’ll pass soon enough. I think it’d be more dangerous if you caved in and you ended up caught. He’s just bored and thinks it’s fun to mess with your head.” Zayn didn’t answer.

 

“Ah, good, you’re here. Was about time.” Harry chirped. It was a Saturday morning and Harry lay suggestively on his bed, resting on his elbows. A few weeks of intense flirting on Harry’s part had passed but still Zayn wouldn’t give in to the lightest of pecks, which had both of them frustrated.

“You called for me, your majesty?” Questioned Zayn from the door.

“Come here please.” Harry almost moaned. A very nervous Zayn walked reluctantly across the room and stopped at the edge of the bed, knowing whatever this was would bring him trouble.

Harry lost no time as he got up and on his knees, balancing himself by placing his hands on the servant’s shoulders. He moved his fingertips up carefully, feeling the cheap fabric underneath, then passing to the skin of his neck and Zayn melted. The Prince’s fingers were on his skin and heading up and everything was turning to a blur. Locks of hair got caught between Harry’s long fingers that were now holding Zayn’s head in place. His face got ominously close to the other’s and for a couple of seconds they just observed each other.

Harry moved slowly to Zayn’s ear and whispered, “Cat got your tongue, babe?” He kissed him gently on the cheek. “Mmm?” Another peck. “…You’re not gonna stop me?” This time on the lips. When Zayn didn’t object, Harry kissed him properly. First pressing softly his lips against the other’s and finding a lazy rhythm, then slipping his tongue out cautiously to lick his upper lip, loving the way the slave’s breath hitched. As Zayn opened his mouth instinctively, he slid it inside and claimed dominance, wanting to reach every corner of his mouth. It was messy, but so, so worth it.

When they broke off, Zayn remained perplex while Harry just shoot him a nonchalant smile. Ever-so-slowly, scared that he would trip on his own feet, the attendant exited the room and took a deep breath.

 

It was now the Summer Solstice and the preparations for the huge ball were all ready. The guests were arriving and settling in to get ready for what promised to be a memorable evening. Zayn and all the other servants had had to put up with the extra work, which was more than welcome by him since it gave him an excuse to spend less time with the Prince, who seemed to find endlessly amusing the way Zayn’s face turned crimson every time they made eye contact and it had Zayn mortified and wanting to crawl beneath a rock.

The day went quickly with no shenanigans on Harry’s side, which had Zayn both relieved and scared. Night settled in and guests started to make way into the main hall. A huge room full of life. There was a band playing on the corner, some acrobats and dancers, and waiters here and there. The hall was beautifully decorated with flower ornaments and expensive vases, lamps, veils, and so on. You could hear the fervent chatting of the noble, all good spirits and gossip.

One by one, the members of the royal family made their way into the room, Harry being the last one, along with Louis. They quickly scanned the room for someone they could have some fun with. Louis put his eye on a beautiful girl of wavy hair, tall and slender. She wore a green dress with gold decorations. She was single. 

Zayn and Liam stood in one of the alcoves on the second floor watching the night come to its drunken exhilaration. They were both wearing the ridiculous new uniform the queen had picked for the help. Zayn felt specially uneasy that night and Liam had brought him a glass of wine he slipped from the kitchen to calm his nerves. Liam knew exactly what was wrong with him, but Zayn had insisted not to talk about it.

Down at the centre of the floor, Harry was dancing cheerfully with a blonde girl with wild eyes. She was absolutely stunning, captivating everyone in the room. Every few seconds, Harry would give a turn and catch Zayn’s gaze on him, only to smile wickedly at him. That’s how the hours passed. Some people took their seats, tired or intoxicated, watching the livelier enjoy themselves. Louis and Harry remained, although inebriated, dancing around the hall with their aristocratic friends and seemingly having the time of their lives.

 

The dance was coming to an end and Liam had gone to bed. He had a long day ahead, having to wake up early to clean up the mess and make it look presentable for the guests. Zayn, though, as much as he wanted to join him in sleep, had been ordered to stick around outside the Prince’s chambers in case he needed something. What an absurd order, he thought. Harry was probably passed out by now, on his bed and would sleep until noon the next day, which meant Zayn would have to sit there for about ten hours watching a door. The guard on duty walked past him about half an hour in and gave him a pitying look.

About an hour so in, Zayn was already nodding off, when a noise came from the door. It wasn’t the Prince, he knew; his voice was too low and husky for the groan that had now replicated itself. Zayn reflected for a second on going in and checking whether if his master was alright but then mentally kicked himself for being such an idiot. The litany of moans continued, stronger, painting Zayn an accurate picture of what could be happening at the other side of the thick wooden door. There were a few thuds against the door, given the closeness of the sound. Then a groan, definitely manly. It was possible it came from the Prince’s mouth, he thought. It did sound a bit like him, not that he would know, of course. Zayn felt something inside his stomach churn. The definitely female part came up with a stream of obscenities that Zayn will forever swear did not came out of the girl that in the next ten minutes was walking out of the room, dignity by the soles of the shoes that she was not wearing. His Highness did not make an appearance, however, for Zayn’s sake.

From his seat, the Servant caught an eye of who the girl was. It was, of course, the lady—not a lady after all, it appeared so—his Majesty had been dancing with throughout the evening. Blaming it on sleep deprivation, a tired, horny, and exasperated Zayn decided to take pity on himself. He wondered what his majesty preferred, men or women, or whether if it was just a matter of opportunity.If it wasn’t, then what did he like? What would he look for in a guy? What did he like to do to them? Or did he incline more towards the submissive type? Based on what he had just witnessed, he rather ruled that last doubt out. Did that girl realise how lucky she was? He would have given anything to be in her place tonight. He would have been better, he was sure. Zayn was interrupted by the realisation he had a blatant erection pressing uncomfortably on his thigh, and, guessing the Prince would be sound asleep by now, decided to take care of it in the nearest closet.

 

Harry called for Zayn the day after around midday. Thankfully there were no plans in the agenda for the day, which meant the queen wouldn’t fuss about the poor servant too much. Harry lay on his bed idly and pretty dazed. In a matter of minutes, Zayn walked in efficiently holding a breakfast tray in one hand and the silk robe the Prince had ordered in the other. As he placed everything on the table, the familiar set of hands met his hips. To the Prince’s disappointment, he didn’t even flinch and continued his task.

When he was finished, he asked courteously, “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”

“Well,” he lowered his hands. “I guess technically not.” Harry’s breath was hot and tickly on Zayn’s neck.

“Then, I guess I’ll be excused, sir.” He left, leaving a confused prince behind.

The day after that, Harry insisted in having Zayn’s company for his meals once again but it didn’t go very well. His servant’s foul mood seemed to grow as the sun reached the west, and by the time Harry was having dinner, Zayn wouldn’t even acknowledge him unless he was directly addressed. This streak of irritability did not pass, as Harry secretly hoped, after a couple of days. In fact, it had been going on for almost two weeks when Harry finally snapped.

It was a lovely summery Sunday afternoon and Harry was having tea and custard by the window in the not-so-enjoyable company of Zayn, who had not said a single word all day, not even to Liam. Harry had had the idea that it would be funny if he used his fingers rather than an ordinary spoon, and was making a mess of himself while at it.

“Is your mother ill or something like that?” Asked the Prince.

“My mother is dead.” Said Zayn with bitterness.

“My sincere condolences. Was it recent?” Harry wiped his fingers.

“No, she’s been dead for five years.” Zayn’s stare was completely blank and it annoyed Harry more than it should have, but he was the Prince, after all, and Zayn a mere servant.

“Then what,” he rose, “is the matter with you that you won’t even address me with due respect anymore?” Exclaimed the Prince, standing a little taller.

“My apologies, your Highness.” Uttered the servant, lowering his head and turning for the door.

“Do not leave,” whined Harry, exasperated. “You are not dismissed. Tell me, am I that horrible of a human being that you cannot even stand in front of me and look me in the eyes any more than necessary, huh?” Zayn did not answer. “Go on, speak. It’s an order.”

“I—don’t know what I’m supposed to say, sir.” Retorted Zayn.

“Whatever it is that I did for you to dislike me so profoundly.” Answered Harry, throwing his hands in the air. “Is it because I flirt with you?” Inquired he. “You didn’t seem to mind the other morning.” He gave a step forwards in sync with Zayn, who instinctively gave a step back.

“That shouldn’t have happened, your Highness.” Was all he said.

“Why?” Another step.

“It isn’t right for a prince to get involved with a slave, my lord.” Zayn wanted to run, and possibly hide under a rock so maybe, just maybe then the sting that crawled up beneath his skin as he pronounced the word ‘slave’ would leave him alone.

“Did you not enjoy it at all?” Zayn would have liked to think that that fade in volume at the end was in fact disappointment.

“That’s not the point, my lord.” Zayn’s face was again pure scarlet.

“So you did?” He smirked. “Wanna do it again?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“I really shouldn’t, sir.” He tailed off.

“But you are attracted to me.” Harry had gone back to looking smug too quickly.

There was a pause. “Yes, sir—” Before Zayn had time to even finish whatever he was about to say, Harry had thrown him against the wall—or window—pinning him in place with his body, while he slid his tongue inside the boy’s mouth unceremoniously. For a few minutes, they just kissed hungrily and with too much tongue. Then Harry went on to Zayn’s earlobe, nibbling on the tender skin and sucking his way down to Zayn’s neck.

There was a knock on the door and the two guys sprung apart, Zayn leaving immediately as it opened, hiding his face from Harry.

 

“Your majesty.” Said Zayn in a quiet tone as he came out onto the terrace.

“I love it when you call me that.” He smirked and Zayn blushed.

“You called for me, sir?” Asked Zayn half-hoping it wasn’t just to eat a banana in front of him, half-hoping it was.

Zayn’s answer was a kiss, short but certainly lustful. The next few minutes passed in a haze and a litany of moans from Zayn’s part. Somewhere in between he looked down to the vision of Harry’s mouth wrapped around his shaft, making him weak at the knees. Harry bobbed his head up and down with skill as Zayn just stood there trying not to come right then. He didn’t last long, though, and within mere minutes was coming, moaning something close to Harry’s name. His Highness had the good sense to swallow.

Panting and blissful, he found himself being pushed down. Evidently, the Prince wanted him to return the favour. Zayn found himself blushing like never before, unsure and ashamed of not knowing exactly what to do. Slaves didn’t exactly have the most active of sex lives. He found the Prince was already hard as he took his cock out of his pants. He started by kissing the tip experimentally and getting a groan out of the Prince in reward. Then, he took in as much as hecould in his mouth—not enough—and was actually thankful when Harry grabbed his hair and started directing him what to do, every now and again pushing a bit too far and making him gag. He didn’t slow down, and instead started thrusting properly into him. Tears started to prick at his eyes but Harry didn’t seem to mind. After a while, he gave a particularly harsh thrust and stilled, coming inside Zayn’s mouth, who couldn’t help but pull away and in result get spunk running down his chin and staining his clothes.

“You better change.” Said Harry a little out of breath, pointing to the stains in Zayn’s jacket. He helped Zayn up, whose face had not abandoned its characteristic red shade. “You were great,” he whispered into his ear sucking on his earlobe, and let him go.

The next morning, a very pleased Harry ordered Zayn to make himself comfortable on the bed while he did something in the bathroom. Zayn sat down, wary of what could happen if he got caught doing something with Harry, and wondered if he would help him or leave him in despair. Zayn’s pondering was interrupted by Harry, who had come out of the bathroom still in his dark blue nightshirt. Harry lay him down carefully and crawled on top. He started outlining his jaw with his lips, and all the way down his neck, sucking a few bruises here and there. He could feel Harry getting hard under the thin cloth. Harry started unbuttoning his shirt and trying to get it off along with the jacket.

And suddenly Zayn panicked. This was the real deal. Maybe he didn’t want to be the Prince’s whore after all. Because that’s what he was, he realised, maybe a tad too dramatically. He had after all been leading up to this promise and he just could not bring himself to let it happen. He was scared but couldn’t let the Prince know that. What guaranteed that he wouldn’t throw one of his famous fits and have him beheaded? Still, he wouldn’t give himself away like that. 

“My lord, I—I can’t do this right now.” He gently pushed Harry aside and got off the bed, straightening his clothes and exiting the room with an apologetic look.

And so it began, a series of quick hand jobs and messy blows in the morning that Harry unspokenly agreed to that lasted for about three weeks. It wasn’t that Zayn was bad at it at all, but Harry was getting tired of only being able to actually fuck Louis, as thrilled as the other party might be. It was frustrating but Zayn just would not let him go any further.

 

“Let me get this straight, he won’t let you have sex with him? The slave? Really?” Louis threw himself in his bed with laughter. They had agreed to have lunch together in Louis’ apartments that day to exchange the latest gossip but Harry’s poor attempt at mentioning it as something casual had been blown off by a hysterical Louis.

“Well, yes. Every time I try to go there, it’s like he panics and runs away from me. He just won’t let me—Lou? Louis! Stop laughing, this isn’t funny! I’m desperate!” Harry tried to stop him but ended up cracking up as well.

“Tell him if he doesn’t then you’ll have his mother arrested or something. That should make him volunteer; maybe even beg.” Louis widened his eyes in a cynical fashion.

“He has no mother.” He whined automatically. “Wait, no! That’s not at all what’s wrong with that sentence. Oh my god, Louis!” He scolded.

“You, my friend, need to have sex with that slave. If you get any grumpier, you’re gonna wrinkle.” He made a face.

“It’s not like it’s up to me.” Retorted Harry sulkily.

“Well, why don’t you try bottoming first?” Proposed Louis in something resembling a poor attempt at helpfulness.

“I have. But whenever I try, he gets just as nervous and awkward and—what do I do, Lou?” Pleaded Harry.

“Honestly, I think you’re putting way too much thought into this. I don’t understand what’s so special about him anyway. As hot as he may be, it’s not worth the effort.” He explained as he took another bite of his dessert.

“I guess you’re right,” was Harry’s only reply.

 

Harry was off riding with Louis for it was Thursday. This meant that Zayn thankfully had the afternoon free to do whatever he pleased. He decided to explore around for a bit and maybe find some place nice to read the new book his Majesty had discarded on the valid grounds that it was boring. He wandered around the castle’s isles just to find himself going out one of the backdoors to find a lovely-looking greenhouse several yards away, hiding behind the trees. It was fair in size. There were lots of exotic plants Zayn had never seen and beautiful flowers hanging from every corner. It was very well taken care of for a place that didn’t seem to be very frequented. A marble fountain decorated with cherubs was placed in the centre and around it were several tables and benches. He sat by one of the tables and proceeded to engage himself in the story. About forty minutes or so had passed when he was interrupted by another man who had sat at the other end of the table.

“You can read.” He glanced up to find Harry was the man that had disturbed him “I’m sorry. That was a very unkind thing to say. I just—” He tailed off.

Zayn wasn’t in the best of moods but he managed to give a small smile and answer politely. “And write. Liam taught me.” He explained. “Sir.”

“Yes?” Asked Harry confused.

“Nothing, I’m just supposed to address you that way, my lord.” He laughed half-heartedly.

“Oh.” He looked down. “I don’t really care too much about those things. You can speak normally when we’re not in public; I don’t mind.” He gave a sheepish smile.

“Alright. Why aren’t you in the woods with the Duke?” Questioned Zayn returning the smile.

“Louis is out visiting his family for the week so I don’t have a riding partner and didn’t want to go all by myself so I decided to explore around for a bit. Certainly didn’t expect to see you here.” He said.

“I had the afternoon free since you were supposed to be out with the Duke. Is there anything I can do for you now?” Zayn’s expression was one of weariness, Harry noted.

“Oh, no. Thank you. I’m alright.” He gave a look around. “You know, this greenhouse is mine.” He said as he stood up to take a look around.

“Is it?” Asked Zayn as he watched the other boy.

“My mother gave it to me for my twelfth birthday. She’s never been down here. No one is allowed in but me.” Zayn looked embarrassed.

“Not even your mother?” He questioned, considering whether if he should leave.

“I’d rather say she’s not allowed to than she doesn’t want to.” Said Harry bitterly. “Oh, for god’s sake, you don’t have to leave. I’ll tell the guards it’s fine for you to come over whenever you feel like it.” Offered Harry as he saw Zayn ready to rush out the door. And then, in a small voice, “If you want.”

“That would actually be very nice. Thank you.” He sat back down on a bench, feeling flustered.

“Why do you dislike me?” Said Harry decidedly not looking at him. “I know I can be mean and bad-tempered at times but I’m not that terrible…”

“I’ve told you I don’t dislike you.” Zayn cut him off.

“Then why is it that you won’t—be with me?” He blurted out.

Zayn didn’t turn red: he turned purple. “Honestly? You’re the Prince and you can’t figure it out?” He said more to himself than anything. “I’m a virgin. It’s got nothing to do with you really. I guess I just don’t want to be your whore?” He felt pretty self-conscious. And stupid. And reckless.

Harry suddenly realised what he’d been doing with Zayn and how it looked. He mentally kicked himself for it. “You’re not—you can always say no, you know that? Right, Zayn?” Zayn’s eyes opened like plates. Harry continued. “I thought you were enjoying yourself but you can always go back to being just my servant. I guess I would understand that.” The Prince was now standing in front of Zayn, his expression a little tense.

“No, no. It’s not that I don’t like it—or you. But this is just meaningless sex for you. If I don’t do it, there’s always gonna be some other girl who can take my place. They’re even easier to lift.” Harry’s stone face cracked into two scarlet cheeks. “I—er—ran into her on her way out. My point is, you can have whoever you want and do whatever you want because you’re the Prince. But my integrity is all I have. That, my pride and this uniform are the only things that belong to me. And we’ve all heard the stories. I can’t just be another conquest; I can’t just give away what’s left. I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to understand and I’m afraid I’ve said too much.” He rose from his seat but the Prince didn’t move aside. For a second, he wondered if he had just condemned himself to doom.

“I’m sorry you have that image of me. You know? It’s not easy being the Prince either. Maybe I don’t have to worry about food or shelter but I am not any freer than you. I’m about to be king. I’m about to have a nation’s weight on my shoulders. That is not easy at all. My mother certainly doesn’t love me. She prefers my brother, I know it. And my father has way too many responsibilities to have any time for his children. I understand that. And I know I have my reputation. But I don’t see you as another piece of meat I own. I will not do anything you do not want me to.” He sighed. “There: another piece of gossip you can share with your friends in the kitchens.”

“I don’t gossip about you.” He lowered his head. “You have to believe me. I have never divulged any details about your personal life or what we’ve been doing these past few weeks.” He paused and looked at Harry in the eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Because I do. You are beautiful and seductive and it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. But what will happen afterwards? What if I’m not any good? Won’t you lose interest?” Zayn felt worse and worse with every word. “Why are we even discussing this? Why can’t you just find someone easier to fuck?” Harry’s expression was undecipherable and Zayn would have gladly stood there a lifetime until he cracked its meaning.

“This is going to sound silly and sappy but, fuck it. I want you. I just do. It’s not a whim, I swear. You’re just—you wow me.” Now it was Harry’s turn to look flustered.

“I wow you.” Said Zayn with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, you wow me.” Reiterated Harry.

“Wow.” They both stood there, not sure of what they were supposed to do now. In fairytales, this would have been the time for the damsel to jump into the Prince’s arms and they ride off into the sunset in a white horse. But Harry’s horse was brown and it was merely four in the afternoon. Also, Zayn wasn’t very keen on the fact that if Harry was the prince, then that made him the damsel.

“So what are you reading?” He sat down.

 

Zayn was feeling rather nervous. No, that’s an understatement. He was so anxious that he had actually turned on his heel right when his knuckles were about to hit the wood. This was the third time he stood in front of that door in the same evening. He couldn’t exactly know what was actually going to happen, right? Surely the fact that the Prince had suggested that he came to his chambers by dusk could be about anything. It might have been the way Harry kissed him goodbye before he left after having breakfast with him. Well, Harry had breakfast; Zayn read. He was being stupid, he knew. It could be something important. Maybe he should just check. That thought process gave him the courage to knock three times with a shaking hand. It was merely five seconds when an eager-looking Harry opened the door for him.

Harry was wearing his military uniform. In the afternoon, he’d been awarded with some new title in an exuberant ceremony. The celebration had included a big banquet; consequently Zayn hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to him at all. He was wearing a dark blue collarless coat with gold trims over white tight pants and his usually wild curls neatly pulled back. He looked absolutely breathtaking and Zayn couldn’t help but gawk. Zayn himself didn’t look bad at all, wearing that simple servant black suit and his raven hair broken off by that ridiculous blonde streak facing up. He had cleaned himself up right before supper, while the baths were empty, hoping it at least would make a small difference from the smell and dirt of a long working day.

Harry took his time too, taking in the sight of Zayn. “Come in.” He said kindly. Zayn stumbled in gracelessly. “So, er—there’s a question I want to ask you.” He struggled with words. He wanted to appear confident but his brain was failing him.

“I know.” Said Zayn a little uneasy.

“You do?” Retorted the Prince confused.

“I mean, at least I think I do.” He blushed, which by this point was not very different from his natural state.

“Would you rather if I didn’t—say it? You know what, forget it. Forget I said anything.” He felt embarrassed.

“I thought I was the one supposed to be nervous?” Zayn gave a little laugh, easing the stress a bit.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Answered Harry, too low for anyone to hear but them.

“Maybe we could… try?” By now, Zayn had somehow managed to spread the scarlet pigmentation across his neck and down his chest, which was thankfully not visible under all that clothing.

“We’ll take it as slow as you want, I promise.” Murmured Harry as he wrapped his hand around Zayn’s waist and stroked his cheek with the other, giggling when he wrinkled his nose at the soppiness of it all.

“You don’t have to treat me like I might break. I’m not made of porcelain.” Commented Zayn as Harry poured some wine on two glasses.

“I know.” He smiled. “You’re made of gold. But I like that you let me do it anyway.” It was awkward. It was very, very awkward. Harry rarely ever let himself be so sentimental and with good reason. There was something about Zayn despite the risk that told Harry he was different. That maybe he wasn’t after the title or the money or the fun. “Can I kiss you?”

Zayn’s reply was exactly what Harry wanted. A tender kiss that quickly turned needier, as if competing to see who would have to break off for air first. It was Zayn, of course, panting and with suddenly renewed nerves. Harry seemed to notice and gave him some space and instead concentrated on his neglected glass of wine.

“Come here. Come to my bed.” He took the servant’s hand in his and gently pulled him in. “Relax, it’s just a bed. You’ve been in it lots of times.” He winked. Zayn didn’t respond but obliged. He climbed in, taking time to appreciate the ivory silk sheets under his fingers. He lay down close to Harry, unsure of what to do.

“You changed the colour.” He stated, tilting his head in awe.

“I thought if they weren’t so dark, they wouldn’t appear so lustful and menacing to you.” He smiled again.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Confessed Zayn with a truthfulness to his voice. He realised he meant it and it made Harry beam.

“That’s good.” Muttered Harry automatically, seemingly more focused on unbuttoning Zayn’s jacket button by button. He took it off. “Now,” he positioned himself half-on top of Zayn, “why don’t you calm down and let me do the work.”

Harry took off his coat as well, revealing a loose white shirt. He leant in and pecked the servant’s lips. He skilfully undid Zayn’s collar’s buttons while he outlined his jaw with kisses. Zayn decided to ignore the fact that Harry had an ease to this that only came with experience and instead focused on how good it felt. The Prince was being gentle with him. He could have just taken what he wanted regardless, but he didn’t. Zayn had a hard time believing in all the good things Harry was doing for him, even if he had been truthful since the beginning. Right now, though, he trusted Harry more than anyone.

By the time Harry’s mouth had reached Zayn’s collarbone, having sucked a few bruises here and there, Zayn’s shirt was unbuttoned as well, exposing flushed skin. Soft kisses trailed their way down Zayn’s chest. The taller boy took one nipple and sucked on it, massaging the other with his free hand. He switched to the other until they were both pink and perky. Zayn could feel Harry getting hard against his leg and couldn’t help but escape a half-moan. He felt Harry smile against his stomach and something flipped. But he didn’t want to disappoint Harry again so he did his best to stay calm. 

Harry felt it, though, and immediately slowed down his pace. He took off the servant’s shirt completely and threw it away somewhere. Getting back up, he kissed Zayn again, trying to calm him down. “Relax.”He whispered against his mouth. Zayn, who had been practically limp, lying there motionless, reached out and wrapped his arms around the boy’s neck. When they broke apart, Harry looked startled.

“You’re very skinny.” He said in a low voice, as if not really wanting him to hear but needing to say it anyway.

“So are you.” Panted Zayn.

“Yeah, but—” Harry never realised up until now that Zayn was after all a slave. He didn’t even know if he had a bed to sleep in. What did he get to eat? How did he manage to pass the winter? He realised maybe he did care a little about this boy. The flip of worry in his stomach was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he pecked his lips, staring into Zayn’s eyes as if he was apologising for something he hadn’t actually done. He went lower once again, tracing with kisses the faint lines of Zayn’s lower ribs. The boy tried not to look down; he knew what Harry was doing but it felt—special. The good kind of special.

Harry travelled lower again, stopping right below Zayn’s navel and looked up, lips glued to his skin. As soon as he nodded, Harry removed his pants and underwear, along with shoes and socks all at once, letting Zayn’s noticeably hard cock out. Zayn was naked now, for the very first time, in front of Harry, who was grinning manically at him. He didn’t waste any time, quickly taking the head into his mouth and sucking lightly. Zayn whined, loving to finally get some contact. But the lips were gone after mere seconds and he was left bare. To the side, he could hear the Prince discarding the rest of his clothes and getting back into the bed.

“Are you sure you want to keep going?” Whispered Harry against his shoulder. He had gotten back into the bed and curled up against the smaller boy. Harry was fully hard as well now, and as desperate for release as he might be, he wasn’t going to fuck this up. He had made a promise. If Zayn didn’t want it, then he wouldn’t object.

“You promise you’ll take it slow?” Asked Zayn blushing, not sure if from the arousal or the embarrassment or the excess of redness itself.

“As slow as you want. Don’t be ashamed. It’s fine. It’s better that you let me know how you feel so I can make it good for you.” Harry sucked another bruise on his right collarbone. “I know I said I wouldn’t hurt you but this might cause you some pain.” He propped up on one elbow and looked at Zayn.

“I don’t care.” He complained impatiently.

The Prince giggled and kissed him softly. Immediately he pushed two fingers in Zayn’s mouth. “Suck” he instructed. Zayn did as he was told, trying to coat them as best as he could. When Harry thought it was enough, he took them out and placed one at Zayn’s entrance. “Spread your legs for me?” He waited and when Zayn nodded frantically, he smiled and pushed the tip in gently. It felt odd, sure, but not terrible. Taking his time, he got the rest in, pausing when Zayn tensed. “Okay?” Zayn dug his nails in the other’s shoulders. He had no idea it would hurt this bad but the promise of what would come next encouraged him. He breathed in and out several times, closing his eyes, adjusting to the foreignness inside him.

“M—move.” Replied Zayn red-faced. Harry complied, taking it out and entering again. He took up a steady pace and after a while Harry tentatively pushed the second but could only get it halfway in before Zayn was grasping his arm, clutching achingly hard from the pain. He was panting shallowly and unevenly. It took him a while before deciding he could take the rest. Harry hesitated but nonetheless pushed as far as he could go. This time Zayn groaned loudly and Harry stopped again. It stung, more than Zayn thought he could bear but he wasn’t going to back down. He instructed Harry to keep going. Soon, two fingers were scissoring carefully, trying to open him up as much as they could without hurrying things. At some point, by accident he brushed Zayn’s prostate in the process, which made him squirm in pleasure. Harry loved the reaction he received from his—not boyfriend, he corrected. He fingered Zayn until the boy was a moaning mess, writhing underneath, desperate for release. 

Harry noticed how extremely hard he was by now and struggled not to just take Zayn right there and then. He was surprised to see how much this could turn him on. Generally, he liked it fast and filthy. He thought about how different it was with Zayn. How new. It wasn’t that he’d never taken someone’s virginity before, but—he realised—he’d never actually cared much about how the other felt. He wondered if he had ever properly hurt someone. It was a thought that made him uneasy. Not only because of how it might have affected them but if that were the case with Zayn. He cared about him more than he was willing to admit. His train of thought was interrupted by the boy underneath.

“I’m ready.” Breathed Zayn. Harry took his fingers out.

He fumbled out of bed once again and disappeared behind the veil. Zayn felt suddenly empty. He crossed his legs protectively and rolled to his side. Restless he waited for the Prince to come back with something in his hand. “Oil.” Announced the other in response to his face of puzzlement. “It makes it go in smoother.” Explained his Highness grinning. He took some in his hand and spread it all over his cock, making little noises as he did so. Zayn’s anticipation was a mixture of half worry that it wouldn’t be good—that he wouldn’t be good—and half excitement and impatience.

Harry placed his hands on Zayn’s knees and rubbed them soothingly. He wanted it to be memorable, to be more than just a fuck for both of them. He moved his legs apart a little and kissed the left knee. Zayn’s breathing got uneven with expectation but the Prince only slowed his pace even more. He kissed his way down along Zayn’s thigh, then up his shaft, licking a bit of leaking pre-cum from the tip while eyeing the servant, who blissfully squirmed on the duvet. His hands roamed at his sides, while he trailed further up, taking time to place a kiss in between Zayn’s collarbones. “Oh, my Lord.” Whimpered Zayn as the other grazed his teeth against the boy’s neck. Finally, he reached the servant’s mouth and kissed him indolently, holding his head in place.

Harry’s hands went down again to hold Zayn’s legs in place, wider than ever before. He lined their noses together and spoke softly against the other’s lips. “This will hurt.” Lining his cock with Zayn’s entrance, he drove in the head, moaning at the incredible tightness that was his partner. Zayn whimpered, grateful for the pause the other made before going farther in. This time Zayn wailed, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. It was too much and he was barely halfway inside. “Zayn, I’ll stop.” Protested Harry worriedly, ready to pull out if the other told him to. “Just tell me to stop and I promise I won’t hold it against you.” Zayn shook his head frantically, giving in to silent tears but stubborn enough to keep going. “Please.” Insisted the Prince.

“I want it.” Harry wished that ‘it’ had been a ‘you’. He thrust the rest in gradually, secretly loving every little reaction he got from the smaller boy, even the pain. It was selfish, he knew but they were both too far gone. Zayn scrambled for anything to grab, finding Harry’s shoulders and gripping them so hard it made him hiss. The gold-skinned boy reached up to steal a kiss from Harry, who immediately returned it. Zayn tried to say something but the Prince shushed him, kissing away the stray tears and purposely ignoring the tenderness of the gesture. “Just… give me a minute.” Croaked Zayn brokenly. He closed his eyes delicately and drew a few deep breaths. Harry had never been this close to the younger boy—teasing didn’t count. He was just so astoundingly beautiful and tight around him it made him dizzy. Zayn steadied his breathing as much as he could before giving a small nod, indicating Harry to go on.

Harry pulled out almost all the way and rammed back in as controlled as he could manage. Zayn’s breath hitched and Harry closed the gap between them with his lips. He kept thrusting shallowly, changing the angle with each time, making Zayn moan against his mouth. In one particular roll of his hips, he brushed Zayn’s sweet spot just right. Suddenly the excruciating pain was worth it; the line separating it from pleasure became a blur. The noise he made had Harry losing all attempts at self-control he had been holding. Zayn’s back arched off the bed, catching his neglected cock between him and Harry’s chest. He wouldn’t last much longer. The Prince quickened and thrust erratically, feeling his own orgasm build up and his groans fill the other’s mouth. A few more thrusts and it was Zayn who came first with a faint wail, dragging his fingers along Harry’s hair, an incoherent mess that quivered uncontrollably under Harry’s weight as he pounded into him mercilessly, riding him throughout. The Prince followed suit, failing at a warning as his mind failed to put a sentence together. He came in between kisses to Zayn’s obscene and abused mouth, which was now looking red and filthy: just how his Majesty wanted it. He never broke off until he was completely spent, pleasure flowing through him, filling Zayn with all he had and loving it.

For a few minutes, they lay in the same position; Harry crushing Zayn under his noticeably more muscular body. He pulled out once he gained his breath back, getting off the bed and leaving Zayn empty. He wondered if this was the Prince’s way of saying he should go now and whether if he was strong enough to. He closed his legs, feeling the sting that would remind him for at least a couple of days of what he had just done. What had he just done? The consequences terrified him. He focused on sitting up and finding it significantly more painful than lying down. Concentrating carefully on each movement, he swung his feet off the bed; only to find Harry had returned with a towel on his hand, already clean himself. 

“Stay there.” Ordered the Prince chuckling lightly as he helped him wipe off cum stains from his chest. Then he helped Zayn under the covers and followed, secretly happy for not having to spend another night alone. Zayn seemed to feel the same way, as he immediately wrapped himself around Harry’s body, glad of the comfort and the heat.

 

“Where have you been?” Asked Liam in a sleepy tone.

“I… Uh… The Prince… Um.” He gulped. He really should have thought of a coherent excuse to tell Liam. After all, he’d had the ten minutes that took the walk back to their room to pull himself together. But he was exhausted and emotionally drained, and for once Liam’s wariness was unbelievably annoying.

“You slept with him?” Yelled Liam as low as he could.

“Shout it from the rooftops, why don’t you.” Prodded Zayn.

“I thought I’d told you it was a bad idea. A terrible one. Zayn, what are you doing?” Pressed Liam.

“Can we not do this right now?” Whined the other, tiredness taking over. He winced as he sat down.

“Did he hurt you?” Liam’s tone had grown serious.

“He didn’t. Well, not intentionally, at least. He was actually—gentle.” Zayn felt like he shouldn’t tell the whole story just yet; not as confused as he currently felt.

“You are aching, though?” Asked Liam concerned.

“Have you ever…?” He paused, feeling like a kid.

“Done it?” Inquired Liam. “Yeah, I have. Hurts like a bitch the first time. Why don’t you lie down and get some sleep?” He offered.

“I’ve slept enough already.” He thought about the Prince’s strong arms wrapped around him and smiled.

“Have you, now?” Mocked Liam, not missing the other’s expression. “And where would that be?”

“…In his bed.” He blushed but smirked nevertheless.

“Wow,” was all he got from his roommate.

“What do you mean?” Asked Zayn nonchalantly as he sank down beneath the thin blanket.

“He never lets them stay the night. Not even the Duke. Why are you here then?” All colour faded from Zayn’s face as he took in Liam’s words.

“I slipped away?” He spoke softly.

“Oh, boy.”

“I’m tired,” was all Zayn replied.

 

Harry woke up to an empty bed. There was no sign of Zayn beyond the veil and it made Harry feel an unfamiliar uneasiness. He rolled around, annoyed. It wasn’t supposed to go that way. Either way, he got up. He called for a servant and instructed him to page a different person to bring him his breakfast today. It was hard to tell if he was doing it out of spite that he’d been left by himself or out of kindness because the other was probably in a fair amount of pain right now. Deep down, he had hoped Zayn would have stayed with him and maybe then he would have made him feel like a mortal again.

He passed the day alone mostly, only willing to see his tutor, Niall, as a distraction. In the afternoon, he decided to take a bath to take his mind off things but instead grew even more restless not having heard of Zayn all day. In a moment of weakness he paged him, but it wasn’t until half an hour later that the servant arrived, limping.

“Join me,” said Harry as a form of greeting. Zayn hesitated but nodded and quickly took off his clothes. The water was warm and soothing to his tense muscles. There was enough room for the both of them in the bath but Harry still insisted that Zayn should lean against him and frankly, the other had no reason to object. He was happy to lose himself in the other’s arms for a while, just appreciating his presence. “The bath should help with the soreness.” He commented as Zayn felt him lie back against the cushion for his head.

“Thanks,” muttered Zayn awkwardly.

“Is it too bad?” Inquired the Prince.

Harry woke him from his thoughts. “What?”

“The pain,” answered he in a low voice.

“Oh.” Zayn mentally slapped himself. “Um… it’s not unbearable.”

“Enough to have you limping.” Harry commented.

Zayn craned his neck to look at Harry. “It’s alright.”

The other didn’t answer back. For a while, all they did was be there enjoying each other’s company and watching the bubbles pop. It was all so confusing, thought Zayn. He had been expecting yelling or teasing or even actual punishment. But instead Harry was being kind, almost tender. It drove him mad. Harry was supposed to be frivolous and sarcastic, not emotional. He didn’t know how to handle him like this.

“You want me.” He said simply, breaking the silence that had been reigning the past instants.

“But you left.” Harry said just as neutral.

“I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.” Zayn protested quietly.

“Do you want me, at all, Zayn?” Questioned Harry miserably.

“I do, my Prince,” answered Zayn politely.

“No, not as your Prince. Or your master or your ruler. As Harry, the person that feels and laughs and made love to you last night.” Zayn flushed as he felt the pair of hands tighten around him. “Well?”

Zayn turned around in distress and straddled Harry’s legs, needing to face him for a moment. “I do want you—Harry.” He whispered warily. The Prince grinned. “But this,” he gestured to their hands that were holding each other loosely, “is dangerous, at least for me.” He reiterated.

“Well, that just makes it that much more exciting, doesn’t it?” Retorted Harry against the other’s mouth. He cradled Zayn’s neck and leant in to kiss him, loving the feel of Zayn’s rough lips against his.

 

Only an hour of travelling had passed but harry wanted to hang himself already. It felt like years as staring out the window to find the same dull landscape replicate itself had grown boring quickly. Louis had fallen asleep as soon as the horses started running. Harry felt jealous. He had a hard time finding sleep in his own bed let alone a carriage.

“Lou?” He muttered in the hopes the other would help with the boredom. He didn’t like being alone so much, it made him think. And thinking never did anyone any good. Besides, all that his mind was interested in was the feel of Zayn’s soft hair under his fingers and his skin that was always so cold—Harry hated that—and his lips, and his arse...

“Whatcha’ thinking of, babe?” Asked Louis in a sleepy voice, stretching out.

“Nothing.” He grumped. “I’m bored.”

“My legs don’t open till ten or until I’ve had some vodka, whatever happens first.” He winked.

“How about just kissing, then?” He proposed.

“Yeah,” said Louis as he walked towards Harry and straddled his legs, sitting on his lap. “Just kissing’s good.” He cupped the Prince’s face with his hands and ran his thumb down his nose and lips softly, feeling the other smile against his finger and kiss it. He then placed one upon Harry’s chest and caressed his cheek with the other as his Majesty’s hands travelled from his knees all the way up to his arse. Ever-so-slowly, never missing Harry’s gaze, he brushed his lips just barely. Next he grabbed his hair roughly and, as the other gasped in surprise, invaded his mouth with his tongue coarsely. 

Eventually they broke off in need of air. Louis’ arms were now wrapped loosely around Harry’s neck, who was in turn holding the other by the waist. “You never told me where we were going,” commented Louis once he gained his breath back.

“Will you be patient?” He scolded as he proceeded to kiss Louis once more.

After another two hours of riding, the carriage finally reached a wide stone road that made way between the thickness of the woodlands and led to a high bronze gate. Beyond it the drive was made of limestone, from which the centre raised a high fountain also made of limestone. To both sides the gardens merged into the pines and in the front stood a palace. Several wide marble steps led to the entrance, where you were led to the hall. All kinds of paintings and golden decorations filled the walls and gave life to its many rooms. To the left, the dining hall, the library, and some other chambers made up the first wing. The second, to the front, held the main hall and on the second floor all the main rooms, the furthest of which was the biggest one, with a balcony that led directly to the edge of a cliff. The third was the service building, with the kitchens and the storage rooms. To the right of the second wing, was a two-storey greenhouse three times the size of the one back home.

“Harry, what is this?” Asked Louis as he stepped out of the carriage.

“This,” announced Harry, “Is mine.” He looked around the palace, which he couldn’t believe was in fact smaller than the other one.

“What do you mean it’s yours?” Said Louis as he hurried inside.

“My father and I planned it years ago. I told him I didn’t want to reign back in that old castle and he said he’d be glad to leave me something other than blood. It’s been under construction all this time and it’s finally finished for my birthday. Well, it will be once the final touches are ready.” Harry followed Louis and marvelled at the beautiful interior.

“It’s empty.” Commented Louis as he made his way down the corridors and back to the main hall.

“Well, of course. It’s still under construction and why would there be any attendants if there’s no one to attend?” He retorted practically.

They spent the day inspecting every corner of the premises and deciding silly little details like which colour to paint each room or whether if they wanted roses or tulips in the gardens. They decided for tulips on the grounds that roses were ordinary and cheap. In the afternoon, the designer met with them to show them how it should look once it was finished and there were no significant objections other than Harry demanded more plants in his greenhouse and a few requests for their entertainment, like a secret room above the library destined for their private—times.

Louis loved it, but the idea of spending the night in a deserted gigantic house with Harry didn’t seem to be the most thrilling of ideas. “Why are we sleeping here, again?” He complained.

“We still have some things to check on, Lou. And it was either doing it tomorrow morning, or tonight and returning at midnight, and that’s just too dangerous. What are you scared of a little darkness?” He crept his fingers up Louis’ arm. “It’s brand new, there are no ghosts here… yet.” He mocked. Louis stuck his tongue out, still reluctant to go in as the sun finished setting.

In the end, with the help of Harry’s escorts, they made their way into Harry’s master bedroom. The only piece of furniture inside was the enormous bed, decorated with sculpted flowers and gold trimming, the sheets a pale pink on which tens of cushions rested. Having dined already and with nothing to do, Louis wasted no time and as soon as the last guard was out, he threw the Prince up against a wall and pulled his pants down. “Off,” he managed to say as the Prince attacked his neck with stinging kisses. He obliged, taking his shoes, trousers and top in mere seconds. Louis would have clapped if it wasn’t for the erection that was begging for attention inside his pants. He continued to bite Harry all over as he sucked and licked the marks he left behind while fumbling to unbutton his own pants. With the other hand he skilfully stroked Harry’s cock uncouthly, just the way he liked it.

“Fuck me numb,” groaned Harry as he chewed on Louis’ earlobe. The Prince’s words went straight down, making all sense of civilization seem to fade from his mind until only carnal instincts remained. Harry was so close to Louis he could read his mind, and so, propped up by Louis’ arms, he wrapped his legs around the other’s waist painfully tight, dragging him in. Louis rammed in uninvited as Harry yelped in pleasure. They gave in, as beasts, to lust, fucking each other until they were incoherent and quivering. Louis came first with a howl, spilling himself deep inside Harry,for whom Louis’ filthiest ways were enough to have him following suit, dragging blunt fingernails along the other’s back.

Sated in their post-orgasmic bliss, they made their way to the bed, still very naked. Louis threw himself in the sea of cushions and forcefully pulled the duvet from under and wrapped it around him and Harry, who was joining him hip to hip. These were the best nights, Harry thought.

“I did it,” dropped Harry as he stared at the painted ceiling. He liked the work, maybe he would have the artist that did it come around to his premises to work for him.

“What?” Asked Louis trying to keep his eyes open.

“I had sex with Zayn,” he croaked as if it hurt to say it aloud.

“Who’s—wait, the salve? Seriously?” He propped himself up on one elbow in sudden interest, sleep could come later.

“Yeah,” he smirked. “But I want more.”

“What do you mean?” Louis was now cuddled to Harry, his lips lingering on his chest.

“I mean, I want to have him again and again and Lou will you stop trying to get me hard again. I’m pouring my deepest desires to you here, can’t you see?” He put his hand over Louis, which was idly stroking his cock.

“I thought your deepest desires were that threesome we had with that countess two months ago.” He tightened his grip and Harry gasped.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he whined. “You’re trying to get me off again and I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Is it working, though?” He smirked and sucked yet another bruise to Harry’s collarbone.

“That’s not the po—oh.” Harry squirmed as he felt two blunt fingers making their way inside him.

 

“Come here.” Harry laid out a hand from where he was sitting by the window. It was the day after their return from Harry’s new palace and he was in seemingly better spirits. “Aren’t you going to say good morning?” He smirked.

“I thought you would want to have your breakfast first. Which why didn’t I bring?” Retorted Zayn from his spot by the door.

“I thought you’d appreciate to get some sleep.” Harry chirped.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” said Zayn with bitterness.

“Why not?” Harry took another bite of his bowl of fruit.

“We’re not exactly allowed to ‘sleep in.’ Have you got any clue as to how this place works at all?” He enquired.

“Never really cared.” He smirked again. “Come on,” whined Harry. “Sit with me.” He gestured to the chair across him which had become Zayn’s designated spot for the past few weeks.

Zayn walked awkwardly across the room and did as he was told. Harry resumed eating and looked out the window, mind somewhere else entirely. Zayn settled for just watching him. His skin seemed paler than usual and his curls stuck out in odd angles. Behind some locks of hair, Zayn could make up a small bruise just below his ear. Then he noticed another one right beside the first one. Purple blotches were blooming all over Harry’s neck and they seemed to go on south. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know how they’d gotten there but he was sure it hadn’t been him. A metaphorical sting settled beneath his ribs, causing his breathing to become uneasy. “You’re a whore,” he thought to himself as the situation dawned on him. However, he was not willing to let that stop him from seeing Harry every chance he got.

 

Harry had him pinned on his study desk, books and sheets of paper and ink tossed and spilled to the sides in an animalistic hurry. His pants had been yanked down to his knees in one movement to expose his ass to Harry’s hungry eyes. He lost no time in slicking his fingers with his own saliva and sticking two inside at the same time. Zayn hissed at the burn but made no real effort to set himself free. Harry quickly worked him open as he palmed himself through his overly-tight trousers. With his free hand, he pulled his pants down unevenly as his urges increased. His two fingers curling just right had Zayn moaning incoherently as he failed to accustom to Harry’s wild rhythm.

Harry leant down over Zayn’s back, his tickling breath reaching the servant’s neck. “You’re gonna take it for me, babe?” His voice was raspier than usual, lust pouring from each word.

“Yes,” hissed Zayn desperate to get what he wanted—needed.

“Yes what?” Demanded Harry as his fingers sank further in.

“Yes, sir.” He felt a soft kiss being pressed behind his ear and a low chuckle as he felt Harry lining himself alongside his fingers. Zayn shuddered in anticipation and nodded frantically, preparing himself for the enticing pain that was to come. Harry looked down, pleased with the way Zayn was squirming and making pathetic little noises in response. He wasn’t even halfway in. Harry groaned as he made his way further inside, revelling in the tight heat Zayn offered. In the meantime, Zayn was struggling to grab on to anything, the edge of the table the only thing available. He had never felt this full in his life.

Harry curled his fingers slightly only to get a whimper from Zayn. He then pulled out slightly and drove back in, throwing his head back. He did it again, and again, sometimes leaving just the head inside to ram back in. Zayn bounced against the cold wood with each thrust, the sound of slapping skin filling the room. Harry’s pace grew stronger and more erratic as he chased his release. Zayn too was close, blissfully receiving each wave of pleasure as Harry hit his spot again and again. The pain was so worth it.

“I—” mumbled Zayn, needy and sweaty. Silently, he felt Harry give a final thrust and spill inside him.

“Don’t,” ordered Harry as he pulled both cock and fingers out and organised his clothes, ignoring Zayn’s whimper of protest. He checked his hair in a mirror that hung next to the door, eyeing him for just a second. “I’ll see you later.” And he walked out, leaving Zayn unfinished and exposed on the desk.

 

The next day, a sexually frustrated and slightly sore Zayn was summoned to the Prince’s apartments around eleven in the morning. He knocked two times like he always did and waited. It was barely five seconds before he was being grabbed into the room by a very naked Harry and shoved against the nearest wall. He had no time to think as Harry closed the gap between them, kissing him while his hands roamed his sides. He could barely keep up with Harry’s lips while he tugged at his uniform as if it was obvious that it had to go. Zayn fumbled to get his clothes off trying not to break apart from Harry. After a few messy movements he managed to take them all off only to press his body harder against Harry’s own.

Harry already had a semi when he opened the door and only grew harder with every little sigh that Zayn let out. His blunt hand travelled south to prep Zayn, sticking one oiled finger inside his hole. Zayn would have been embarrassed that he was acting like such a slut if it hadn’t been for how much he was loving the feel of Harry’s cock twitching against his own and the finger making its way inside him. Joining the first, another finger was pushed inside him, wasting no time while the Prince’s free hand worked on Zayn’s shaft.

“Up,” mumbled the Prince against the boy’s lips and took his fingers out, gripping his ass cheeks tightly as Zayn did a small jump and wrapped his legs around his Highness’ waist. He then transferred his lips to the other’s neck, sucking and biting here and there. At the same time, he tentatively thrust his way inside Zayn’s hole, only going halfway in since he could be aching a bit from the previous day. Zayn only groaned in response and bit into the Prince’s neck, sucking a bruise around the marks.

As Harry grew needier, the litany of Harry’s that left the servant’s lips echoed and settled inside the Prince’s mind. He wouldn’t last much longer. Almost crushing Zayn against the wall, he reached a hand down to stroke Zayn purposely while they kissed once more. “Please—” moaned Zayn against the Prince’s lips. They seemed to be on the same page, for Harry obediently squeezed the head and thumbed his cock more intently. Within a couple of minutes, Zayn was coming with a groan and shooting his load in between their chests. Harry followed after a short while, pulling out and coming all over the other’s torso.

He let Zayn down slowly, kissing him despite the disgusting, sticky feel when their bodies came in contact. “I’m having a picnic tomorrow,” he kissed the boy’s head, “Just you and me.”

 

Harry dragged Zayn out of the castle and across the gardens until Zayn was sure they were no longer inside the boundaries of the vast land mostly rounded by a tall, stone fence that made up the entirety of the royal estate. They had been walking for a good fifteen minutes now and Harry had just begun to slow down, apparently reaching his destination. Zayn had no clue as to where they were but it seemed to be a glade in between the thick foliage of the woods. The air was chill as there was little light seeping through the various layers of branches that isolated them from the rest of the world. Summer was reluctantly coming to an end, taking with it the brighter mornings and the late sunsets. Today, though, was one of the last sunny days of the year. Soon, leaves would cover the grasses and everything would change colours.

They had barely spoken since the servant’s arrival at Harry’s chambers wearing his typical black service suit (and presumably the only clothes he owned) with a rather apprehensive look. The Prince, as always, seemed to feel exactly the opposite and had greeted Zayn with such fervour and excitement he had thought it was some kind of joke he didn’t get. He had made a few comments here and there about things they encountered as they walked but Zayn hadn’t managed to pay attention to his words, too distracted by the fact that they had been holding hands the whole time.

“Here,” chirped Harry as they reached the heart of the clearing. “I had them pack our favourite foods.” He shot Zayn a bright smile, gesturing to the basket the boy was carrying. Zayn put it down and took out a cloth that he then extended across the lawn so that they could both sit down. Harry opened the basket leisurely and started taking out things. A pie, some fruit, those little buns Zayn loved and Harry hated.

“How do you know what my favourite foods are?” Said Zayn while he took out a jar of raspberry jam, evidently his favourite. It all looked delicious. He still hadn’t gotten used to Harry sharing his significantly better food with him on a practically daily basis, not complete meals but a bite here and there that were definitely making the difference in Zayn’s diet. He didn’t feel the starving hunger that woke him up in the middle of the night every so often before he arrived at the castle, and for that, despite the stab to his pride, he was grateful.

“I pay attention, darling.” The prince took a little strawberry and threw it in his mouth, catching it in the air and making Zayn smile. He lay back against the cloth, crossing his legs and staring up at the top of the trees, where leaves came with a celestial glow they would soon lose due to the hard winters the castle was famous for suffering.

Darling: it stuck in Zayn’s brain. It was—sweet, in an I’m-literally-your-owner kind of way. “What else do you pay attention to?” He inquired. While he waited for the Prince to come back down from cloud nine, Zayn imitated his actions and crossed his arms behind his head.

“Well, I know that when I curl my fingers just the slightest bit to the left, it gets you writhing and moaning like a—” The Prince looked to his right to find Zayn turning almost purple with embarrassment. “Oh, don’t look so mortified; you love it. It’s cute, really.” He winked. “I also like the way grass looks early in the autumn mornings when it’s frozen but not covered in snow. And how you like it when I kiss you on the corner of your pretty, pouty mouth before you leave.” Zayn blushed again, or maybe never stopped in the first place. “Or how you still never stay the night with me.” He looked away.

Zayn hated that, hated the way Harry expressed one honest thought and then just shut everything out and became this morose person he almost didn’t recognise. He knew it was probably just a mechanism of defence but honestly, what was he so afraid of? Zayn felt odd. The way their relationship worked was far from ordinary and he didn’t even know what their relationship was for starters. “I can’t stay with you. There are rules. If I’m not back before the curfew, I’ll be punished again.” He explained trying to get the sulkiness out of Harry’s tone.

“That’s just stupid. They’re my subjects! If I tell them not to penalise you, then they’ll have to let you stay with me whenever I want. Or else I’ll have them beheaded!” Harry sat up and his curls fell over his eyes comically. Zayn would have laughed if he hadn’t been so terrified that he had upset the Prince.

“And what about your mother? What if she takes their side? Besides, your Highness, you can’t just have people decapitated for essentially doing their job. It’s not right or fair.” Zayn felt a lump on his throat, which had gone dramatically dry. He was sure this wasn’t the lovely escapade the Prince had intended to have and it was all his fault. He and his stupid morals that sometimes took over his mouth before his brain could do anything.

“She can’t do anything. She doesn’t even care.” He looked like he was going to say something else but suddenly held back and stared awkwardly at his feet. Neither of them wanted to be having this conversation. “What happened to ‘Harry’?” He said in a small voice.

It was now Zayn’s turn to look apologetic. It was a reflex, to call superiors as they were supposed to be addressed. He unconsciously didn’t realise Harry wasn’t just a Prince. He insisted almost every day to be treated as just another person, which Zayn understood in a way. He understood too that it hurt to be treated with such distance. Harry was sat beside him without looking at him, his knees bent slightly and his hands wrapped around them protectively. He didn’t look like a sovereign; he looked like a boy. Just another boy, confused and so adorably scared. This was, Zayn realised, what he tried so hard to protect himself from, from revealing his vulnerability.

Zayn got up then, from where he had been lying so comfortably, and crawled towards Harry’s side. He sat on his heels and looked upon him but got nothing in return. So he took his delicate face with one hand, and forced him to glance up. He leant forward until their lips were barely touching and kissed him gently. “Sorry I’m ruining the picnic, Harry.” He whispered.

Harry’s reply was to kiss him back just as softly. “You’re not.” Harry pulled him into a hug and let out a sigh. “I don’t like it when we argue.” He said again avoiding Zayn’s gaze, those deep eyes that threatened to swallow him whole. Then abruptly he flopped back down on the lawn. “Are you hungry?”

Zayn nodded and Harry took out the rest of the food. The day went smoothly then, both relaxing into each other’s arms as they enjoy the other’s company. They fed each other as if they were inside a play, the Prince giggling whenever Zayn tried something new. It was nice just it being the two of them without the possibility of getting caught. Surprisingly, instead of being an invitation to more open sexual activity, it beckoned for simple intimacy, something Zayn specially appreciated. Sometimes it was good to feel like he was more than a sex toy from time to time. It was weird, he thought, how—Harry—could be this sentimental all of a sudden despite most of the time being a spoiled, selfish prick.

 

And that way, several weeks passed. Autumn took over the life at the castle as the temperature fell sporadically. The hearth in Harry’s room and the heating system were on almost all the time. Another thing Zayn was grateful for was the fact that without the Prince having a special interest upon him, he would probably have to spend significantly more time in the cold of the service building. He hated it there. Not that Liam wasn’t a great friend despite worrying too much and that he didn’t love spending evenings chatting with him in the darkness after the lights went out but the winter only meant bad things for the servants. Slaves fell ill constantly because they were too weak or too tired and disease spread often among the workers. This too caused the not so considerate nobles to treat them more scornfully than usual. The environment on the whole was bleak and depressing and it made Zayn feel uneasy.

It was hard to watch his friends, his equals, give in miserably to adversity because they didn’t know any better. It hurt that they were all so resigned to whatever pain the winter brought even though it was barely mid fall. Faces turned pale and expressionless, and he could nothing but watch as the good spirits in the morning slowly died out. It was frustrating too, the way he was the object of derision and scorn more often than not by the hands of those who didn’t take in too well what he was doing with the Prince. It made him feel dirty. Although he had tried his best at being discrete about it, the guards had eventually told on him and made him the subject of countless jokes. He didn’t usually mind, but when the puns became rather ill-natured, it was hard not to react negatively.

At first he and Harry got to know the little details about each other as they spent more and more time together. Their mornings brought unconscious conversation that revealed opinions and good hearted banter. It was easy to fall into a routine where no real progress was made but no actual problems surfaced. Summer on the whole had been good to them and six months flew past since that April morning when they first met. The cold though, seemed to put a cripple on their relationship as well. All good things must come to an end; it was a thought that often crossed Zayn’s mind and left him strangely unsettled.

Probably one of the things that discouraged him the most was the fact that Harry had gone back to acting like a total brat even more than usual. Actual conversations were rare and usually went nowhere, ending with Harry looking as miserable as Zayn felt. Harry stopped giving surprises to him unless they had something to do with sex. Speaking of which, that changed as well. They were actually doing it more often than ever, filthier and rougher, leaving Zayn used up, marked, and exhausted. It was as if he was just using Zayn for whatever he needed. It felt strangely impersonal and Zayn hated it.

 

Harry summoned Zayn after a long day of royal duties that he absolutely detested around nine in the evening. The room was cold and dim, lit exclusively by the fire of the hearth. Harry felt more anxious than usual, his everlasting bad mood having gotten worse as he was forced to act like everything he hated. He paced around, surely Zayn would come? He wore his favourite white coat and beige trousers, his curls set free in a silent act of rebellion against his title. He wanted Zayn; he craved him. He needed to have him underneath his own body, sweating against the sheets and shouting out his name as—if he continued in that train of thought there would be no point of having Zayn there in the first place.

Zayn knocked his characteristic two times and waited. When nobody answered, he let himself in cautiously. Inside, the prince was standing by the far window with an undecipherable expression on and staring at him. “I—you had me paged?” Zayn spoke softly, sensing the tension in the air and not wanting to disrupt anything.

Zayn stood in the middle of the room while Harry walked unhurriedly over to where he was. He glanced at his feet. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he said in that low husky voice that definitely did not make him churn inside. Harry raised his hands to cradle Zayn’s neck, caressing softly the skin at the back of it. Then silently he put their noses together and closed his eyes, simultaneously joining their lips together and initiating a slow kiss. Zayn was taken aback mentally by the tenderness the Prince had so suddenly adopted but decided to appreciate it and for once not question what was happening around him.

The Prince continued kissing Zayn as he decided that it wasn’t a dream and dared to put his hands on Harry’s chest. Normally the gesture would have been received with a snigger or a giggle but instead, the Prince just pressed his body harder against Zayn’s. After a while, he sucked on Zayn’s lower lip asking for entrance and deepened the kiss. While he did that, he took off Zayn’s jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off as he ran his hands through his skin. Zayn stepped off his shoes while the Prince guided him backwards, pushing him towards the bed.

Zayn tried to steady his breathing as he watched Harry undress before him, his ribs sticking out as he stretched to get his shirt off behind the veil. He felt a little self-conscious, given that Harry had a significantly strong body while the barely define muscles he had he’d gotten from physical work. Harry reached down and took off the rest of Zayn’s clothes, discarding them somewhere on the floor. He lay down against a pillow and held a hand out so Zayn would follow him. And he did, immediately merging their lips back together as he crawled on top. Harry’s hands rested on his hips as Zayn took the lead and kissed along Harry’s jaw line and neck. A hesitant hand made its way down Harry’s body and gave a tentative stroke to his cock.

He kept doing it until he was fully hard in his hand, feeling and loving the way Harry’s breath became uneven for him. Harry watched intently Zayn’s every move, smiling shortly whenever Zayn returned his gaze. He took Zayn’s chin with one finger and guided him up again to kiss him. Rolling them over, Harry felt that Zayn too had a massive erection and had to resist the urge to smirk. As soon as Harry was on top of him, Zayn wrapped his legs around the other’s waist trying to pull him down. Panting, Harry broke away and looked at him. “Slow down,” he whispered only to get a frustrated noise from Zayn.

He sat up on his heels and pressed two fingers to Zayn’s lips, something he knew meant: suck. He did as he was told, humming when he felt a hand playing with his balls. Harry took them out with a ‘pop’ and pushed the first one inside Zayn. His legs opened automatically as Harry fucked him with his fingertip. Patiently, Harry thrust the rest of his finger inside and curled it to get a heavy sigh from Zayn. It wasn’t long before he added a second finger, not hesitating to start scissoring them, opening him up.

With each soft thrust, Zayn let out an almost inaudible moan until he was reduced to a writhing mess, grasping fruitlessly at the blood-red sheets. Harry’s self-control was also on the verge of slipping away as he watched Zayn’s red face come undone with want. He could see how close Zayn was in the way he tried and failed again and again to form a coherent word. Satisfied, he took his fingers out and placed his cock against Zayn’s hole, his hands raising the other’s legs. He rammed in with a single movement, not caring that he wasn’t using any lubrication and Zayn was probably in pain right now. But truth was that it had only sent Zayn closer to the edge. He stayed there motionless for a few seconds, pushing the slave’s legs back to try and go deeper. It was the frustrated whine the other made that had Harry driving in and out again in the slowest rhythm. With each thrust he went deeper, losing himself in the redness of Zayn’s lips.

After a minute or two Zayn was matching Harry’s thrusts with his hips, desperate to reach the point he was at before. He held his knees with his hands trying to give Harry more room, hissing at the burn as Harry pounded into him with no rush whatsoever. His thrusts started to become stronger and faster, feeling the way Zayn’s walls clenched around him, taking him too close to climax. “Not yet,” he breathed out as he saw the way the other’s face was pleading for Harry to let him come. Zayn whimpered but still obliged, biting on his own lip as he felt his neglected cock aching for release.

Harry changed the angle of his thrusts, now leaning more over Zayn’s legs, so that each one hit directly on the boy’s prostate. Zayn gripped on Harry’s shoulder tightly, trying to suppress the moan escaping his mouth. His body was starting to tremble rather wildly as he tried to hold his orgasm. Harry too moaned on occasion every time he got a whimper out of the servant. Zayn was completely gone in the pleasure he was receiving, and that was taken abruptly when Harry pulled out and finished himself, pumping his cock with his own hand until he came all over Zayn’s chest. “Harry,” Zayn whined loudly in frustration that yet again he would be left on edge for god knows how many days. But as if there hadn’t been enough surprises, the Prince grinned widely and finally, finally touched Zayn’s shaft and stroked it until he came violently with one swift movement of the wrist.

Zayn let his legs down while he tried to regain his breath. The Prince slumped over him careless of the mess he’d made over the boy, playing with one of his nipples. He bit Zayn’s collarbone and sucked some more bruises along his neck, paying special attention to the ones he’d made before that hadn’t yet healed. He ran his thumb against the bite marks, trying to see if they hurt. Then he took Zayn’s earlobe into his mouth and licked it playfully, revelling in the squirm he received from the boy underneath. “More,” he purred, “I need more.” Zayn already felt spent but didn’t dare say no to his Highness, partly because he was after all his master, and partly because he was secretly grateful he had taken a night to pay attention to him or so he felt.

The Prince didn’t wait for an answer as he slid down Zayn’s body and took the head of his cock in his mouth. Zayn gave a surprised gasp and threw his head back, letting the Prince see the multicoloured mess he had made of the boy’s neck. He smirked manically and took the rest of the prick in his mouth; a trick Louis had eagerly taught him a couple of years ago. Zayn hummed in appreciation as he felt himself getting fully erect again. All the while, Harry was pumping himself again, needing to be inside Zayn again.

He crawled back on top of Zayn and pulled his legs apart, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before getting up and disappearing behind the veil. When he came back, he had already oiled himself, and wasted no time in placing himself on top of Zayn, thrusting in without needing to prep him again. He thrust slowly again, watching intently as Zayn’s face filled with red and drew in a heavy breath. He continued this way until Zayn’s legs accustomed to the position and he was able to bend over to rest his head on Zayn’s chest, his nose aligning with the light dent in the middle. It felt strangely personal, to be able to feel Zayn’s heartbeat against his face and the way his chest rose and fell while he thrust deeply inside him. He groaned as the servant ran his right hand through his dishevelled curls and caressed his back with the other.

Zayn arched his back when the Prince finally decided to hit his spot, and Harry took the chance to straighten, hovering over Zayn’s face. For a moment they continued like that, gazes locked as Harry fucked into Zayn with one hand strongly grabbing his right butt cheek and the other holding him behind his back. Zayn tried to match his thrusts but the position made it impossible and once again he was left to do nothing but just take it. As Harry pounded into him, each time was met with a moan that sent shivers down his spine. Some minutes passed while they kissed between pants, coming simultaneously to a blinding climax as they lay wrapped around each other.

Harry didn’t pull out immediately. He was too tired and too emotionally drained to do anything other than hold Zayn. Even then, just spending a few hours with Zayn seemed to brighten his mood a tad and he was glad not to be pushed away. Eventually, he propped himself on his elbows and gave Zayn a soft kiss before getting off the bed with surprisingly weak limbs. He fetched a cloth and cleaned himself up, coming back to do the same with Zayn. He smiled as a thank you after Harry was done and rolled over; propped on his elbows he stretched his legs and ran a hand through his raven hair.

Harry couldn’t help but watch the muscles flex as Zayn moved. He wished he could map every corner of his body and claim him as his to the world. The servant lay his head down, too tired right now to get up and leave. Harry’s finger drew a line down his spine in one ephemeral gesture. Then it came back, doodling on his skin and making him shiver. He watched absent-mindedly with his knees drawn to his chest as his fingertip travelled across Zayn’s golden skin. Zayn would have sworn for the life of him that between those shapeless forms there had been a heart at some point, pressed intently against his shoulder.

“Zayn,” spoke Harry softly, as if not wanting to be heard. His response was a sleepy hum from Zayn. He was surprised the boy wasn’t scrambling apologetically to leave like he always did. His finger traced delicately the faint line rising in the middle of his left side. Zayn tensed. “What is this?” Harry’s voice had gone back to sounding bleak, but there was something like genuine concern.

“It’s a whip mark, Harry,” answered Zayn sourly after a brief pause. Harry kept grazing gently over it again and again, like he was memorising it.

“How come I never noticed it before?” His hand left Zayn’s skin, though the burning heat of his touch remained for quite some time. Zayn took this as his cue to speak. He rolled again on his side so he was able to see the Prince’s face, which was looking miserably apprehensive. The fire was significantly weaker than it was when he arrived, and they were almost in total darkness. Even then, Harry’s chiselled features stood out. His jaw looked beautiful and noble; his eyes were filled with feeling, a fervour that almost never appeared in those boring eyes that had Zayn swooning.

“Maybe you didn’t really want to look,” muttered Zayn. He felt suddenly cold; the sheets stained with sweat stuck to his body uncomfortably. He wanted to be anywhere but there. The first name basis they’d taken up would have left a butterfly in his stomach, but the fragility of the subject left him unsettled, again.

“I—” He gulped. “I never noticed.” He stared at nothing. “Do you have any others?” Harry’s abnormally green eyes seemed honest, and it ripped Zayn’s heart to pieces, though he wasn’t willing to admit it.

“No,” he fidgeted with the wrinkles of the fabric, “it’s just that one.” The sound of burning wood was the only thing that interrupted the silence across, where the two boys stared at each other, as if measuring who would crack first.

“Who did it?” The Prince’s voice sounded awfully royal, thought Zayn, if there was such a thing as a royal tone of voice.

“Do you really want to know?” He closed his eyes.

“Yes! Somebody hurt you! They—they marked you.” The last words came out as a hush. Harry reached forward and placed his hand on the crook of Zayn’s neck. He shivered in response but didn’t object when he moved to make small circles on his arm.

“Exactly.” He said resignedly. “It’s a mark. I’m something to be owned. They—” He sighed. “They did it before they brought me here. My family was dead and there was no one to protect me so they didn’t hesitate to take me as a slave and—” He could feel tears starting to prick at his eyes. He never really let himself think about it much, let alone talk about it. Harry seemed to notice too as he felt his finger stroke his cheek and swipe the first tear away. “We’re all marked.” Surprised that his voice didn’t falter or break, he continued. “I’ve seen men with their back disfigured with scars; others have burns in certain places; some girls have tattoos. I’d rather have a single whip mark on my back than have a burn mark on my calf like cattle.” He closed his eyes again as he felt another set of tears stream down his face.

“You’re cold,” hummed the Prince involuntarily. He got up again and came back with a heavy blanket that he wrapped around Zayn’s frail body. They both slid under the covers and the comfort of Harry’s bed. The Prince lay on his back with Zayn curled almost desperately to his side while he wept quietly. He thought with a tinge of guilt that it felt nice to have Zayn clinging to him like that, exposed and needy.

“Zayn, can I ask you a question?” He felt the boy nod weakly against his chest. “How old are you?”

He wiped some of the tears, which thankfully seemed to be stopping. “I’m sixteen.”

“You’re still a kid,” Harry hissed.

“We both know I’m not.” He managed a smile that had Harry melting right there and then.

“I’m sorry. About everything that’s happened to you.” He kissed Zayn’s forehead. “No one’s ever gonna put a hand on you again, understand?” His hands tightened around the other’s body. “I promise.” He sighed. “I—”

“Yes?” Zayn looked up.

“Nothing.” He muttered. Ignoring Zayn’s look of confusion, he concentrated of burying themselves completely under the many layers of blankets meant to protect the Prince from any illness the cold could bring. “You’re staying the night with me and I won’t take no for an answer.” When Zayn finally whispered an okay in his direction, he could help but let out a deep breath.

 

When the Prince woke up, Zayn was still there, tucked against the far end of the bed but with him nevertheless. Harry was fidgety and giddy and it made him want to much literally bounce with feeling. He knew he shouldn’t get this excited over something so insignificant but Zayn was there, there with him. He had stayed the night and somehow that seemed better than anything else in the whole wide world. He shifted, getting more comfortable on his side of the bed. Was Zayn even awake? He itched just to touch him with his fingertips and felt suddenly stupid. His brain started to play tricks on him and he had to make great effort just to put the nagging on the back of his mind to rest again. This didn’t mean anything. He was there, right there, and it made him feel like maybe whatever this was, was real. And that was certainly enough.

“Hey,” muttered the Prince as Zayn rolled over and rubbed one of his eyes.

Zayn stared blankly at the Prince for a couple of minutes. His eyes widened and he looked around alarmed. All of a sudden everything rushed back; the Prince, the sex, the scars. He had fallen asleep on his bed, for Christ’s sake! What was he thinking? Was the Prince even going to live up to his words for once? He certainly hoped so or else punishment surely awaited him back at the kitchen.

“What?” The Prince giggled.Oh god, he giggled.

“I fell asleep—sorry, I—” He rushed to get the covers away to grudgingly remember they were both stark naked under the heavy blankets. The Prince chuckled for a moment and then seemed to compose himself.

“You don’t have to go…” He mumbled. “But I suppose I understand if the rush to get out of here is so overwhelming.” He gave a heavy, dramatic sigh.

“What?” It was too early for Zayn to keep up with Harry’s words no matter how slow they left his pretty, pink lips.

“Honestly, you don’t seem to grasp very well the concept that I want you to be on my bed preferably not on the edge of the bed where you could fall at any minute because frankly your face is too pretty to get scratches.” Harry winked and crawled closer to the slave that was still staring with perplex eyes. “Or you know,” he made a gesture with his hands and Zayn glared dumbly at his long fingers, “You can just leave if it makes you so uncomfortable.” He made something Zayn was sure was a pout and he hated him so much in that moment because it was just not fair. “I just wanted to have breakfast in bed.”

“I—um,” Harry’s eyes opened expectantly. “Shouldn’t I be the one bringing you that breakfast?” He yawned. It didn’t seem like a great effort Zayn was making into convincing Harry that him being in that bed was wrong, and if either of them noticed, they chose not to say anything.

“I’d rather you do other things, if we’re being honest.” He leaned even closer to Zayn until he had no choice but to give in to Harry, otherwise he would have literally fallen off the edge.

Harry pulled the boy towards him from his shoulder, holding his head in place with one hand as he gave him a deep good-morning kiss. Zayn whined a little and kissed back more fervently, resting half of his body on Harry’s. It was lazy and nice and different from their usual rush to get off at inappropriate moments of the day.

Harry broke away first, smiling and holding Zayn still. “You know, I really could use that breakfast.” He pecked Zayn on the cheek and moved to the far end of the bed to ring the bell to the kitchen. He clambered back to Zayn and slid under the covers. That particular morning was gloomier than usual and rain was already pouring against the glass windows. He wrapped himself around the servant and kissed his nose, too happy to care that he was probably being too grabby for what they were used to.

Zayn was dozing off again when there was a knock on the door. The Prince groaned and clambered out of bed to answer it. He didn’t like when people let themselves in no matter who they were. From the bed, Zayn could make out the sheet wrapped loosely around Harry’s waist, which really didn’t cover anything but he was sure the servant would appreciate the gesture to at least try and look dressed. His ass-appreciation was foully interrupted when he saw Liam step inside holding the silver tray he knew so well. He knew the veil was too thin to hide his face and curse the fact that Liam could probably see his own ass form that angle. Indeed he could and went bright red when he saw the tan boy lying relaxed on the Prince’s bed.

“Ah, yes, if you could just leave it on my nightstand on the left. That’s it, thank you.” Harry followed Liam around still wearing next to nothing as the cloth slowly threatened to fall from his unholy hips. He didn’t seem in the least concerned and Zayn would have laughed if he hadn’t been in that same position before and well, if he wasn’t in his own right now. Liam shut the door with a loud thud as fast as he could and Zayn winced. “What?” Asked Harry as he moved the tray to the bed with surprising skill and lay it out for him and Zayn.

“That’s my roommate.” Zayn’s face resembled the strawberries neatly displayed on a bowl of fruit.

“Your roommate?” He took one and bit into it. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he nodded as to say ‘isn’t it obvious?’ “We share a room back at the service quarters.” Zayn occupied himself with serving the tea out of habit.

“You share a room,” echoed Harry as he stared blankly at the boy across.

“Yeah,” smiled Zayn.

Harry looked bored. “And—”

“And what?”

“Nothing else?” Inquired the Prince. “He seems frightening,” he commented as he took a bite of a bagel.

“He looks like a kicked puppy,” replied Zayn casually and Harry laughed at that.

The rest of the conversation fell into an easy, repetitive banter as they ate their lovely breakfast together. And all throughout Harry didn’t feel like they should be saying more or that there was absolutely anything wrong with that scene. Nothing at all. He continued not to stare at the hollow of his cheeks or the way he smiled to the side and never displayed quite a full grin. The same went when Zayn eventually had to actually get dressed and go before the Prince could have another go and he got kissed on the corner of the mouth by a careless Zayn like it was the most natural thing to do.

 

On a Tuesday morning, Harry woke up and the sky was clear. The fire had gone out completely but thanks to the million threads he was under, his body was still warm and cosy with sleep. Soft rays of early sunshine peered through the curtains as the shades were no longer put down at night since there really was no point for doing so. The colder months brought privacy in a different sense. No one had the energy to intrude on the latest affairs going on in the castle. Nobody woke Harry up for nothing and nobody walked in on undesirable views of him and whoever else doing the ungodly. And he absolutely loved it. He loved the way they no longer even bothered to try and get him to attend his actual duties and he was free to do as he pleased (if he didn’t already).

He rolled on his back and stretched like a cat, feeling the muscles under the skin grow longer and dust off the last bits of drowsiness. Maybe just ten more minutes... He let his legs go completely limp, open loosely towards either side of the bed. He reached a hand down without thinking, though he was usually not the one doing the ministrations. He toyed around with a finger drawing nothing on his stomach, then reaching further down to gently stroke the outline of his balls. His thumb just barely made contact with the base of his dick and followed a line to the head, taking it in his hand and pumping it eagerly.

He loved sleeping naked. It was one of the greatest feelings to wake up to. It definitely did not cross his mind that waking up to a tanner boy also sleeping naked beside him was pretty cool as well. While on that subject, his mind casually moved on to the way Zayn’s soft, full lips looked when they were stretched out obscenely around his shaft. That got a tiny whimper out of him as his cock reacted to the memory. Pumping it with more intent now, he took the hand that he had behind his head and sucked on his fingers, trying to wet them as much as possible.

He lowered his hand quickly, slowing the pace of the other, and pressed a fingertip against his hole, drawing in a sharp breath as it slid in. Another moan quietly escaped the Prince’s half-open mouth. Without hesitance, in a mechanisation that only comes with practice, he started thrusting it in and out imagining deep blue eyes and a fantastic arse on top of him. He missed Louis. Soon there were two fingers working him slowly in sync with his own breathing. Naturally, as need took over, he picked up his pace, adding a third finger and finally allowing himself to reach that special spot that had him arching off the bed and panting.

He came within a few minutes of the shallow fucking that his fingers allowed. A lazy morning orgasm that sent shivers up his spine as he felt his limbs and fingertips give out, the pumping of his free hand reduced to clumsy strokes, moaning out a strangled “Zayn.” He didn’t even realise he had done it until he came off his high; reality dawning on him almost cynically and metaphorically slapping him on the face.

Nobody needed to know.

 

“I need help,” muttered Harry under his breath as he blinked twice and looked around. His curls had fallen over his face and obstructed the very dull view of Louis and Niall engrossed in some conversation he cared little about. They were sitting in one of the offices in the castle’s library reviewing details about some battle Harry hadn’t even been born for. They could be so boring at times. Stretching his arms across the table, he closed his eyes one more time and tried to resume his definitely more important sleep.

“Harry, wake up!” He heard someone exclaim in the distance. His head was pounding again: great. He was vaguely aware of someone still talking in the distance but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet. Grumbling, finally he sat up to find two pairs of eyes staring confusedly at him.

“Late night with the slave?” Asked Louis not even trying to hide the smirk on his lips. Although they didn’t talk about it much any more, Louis never missed a chance to mock Harry for every hickey he found on the Prince’s skin or whenever Harry kicked him out of his room because Zayn was coming over and he didn’t want Louis doing something imprudent like they both knew he would.

“No actually,” he shot defensively despite the lethargy of his voice due to sleep, “I haven’t—seen him—in a couple of days.” And it shouldn’t have sounded bleak at all; it should have been the regular boredom that adorned his voice normally. But he was too tired to put up a façade, and if he could confide in anyone, it was on the two men sitting at either side of the table.

There was a pause in which neither of them was really sure what to say. Finally, the tutor spoke. “There is really no point in me even trying to finish my lesson now, is there?” He smiled a little. If he hadn’t grown so attached to the boys (and Liam though he wasn’t willing to admit it) he would have left the position years ago. He had heard stories about the tutors they had had before him. There had been about seven or eight in just a couple of years. Louis and Harry had always gotten what they wanted, one way or another, and if it meant burying the tutor under piles of their own books or locking them away on a closet for a couple of days, then so be it. At the beginning the boys had been difficult with him too, but with time he learnt to manage them and they figured Niall was the most flexible they were going to get.

“I’m glad you see it too.” He turned to Harry. “So why the long face, babe? What happened with golden boy?”

“Golden boy? Really? I’m almost tempted to say that I expected more from you, Lou. I’m afraid you might be losing your touch.” Harry scolded dramatically as he shifted awkwardly on the chair, facing away from his friend’s prying gaze.

“Oh, don’t try to change the subject! Something’s going on with him, I know it!” He looked as if he was almost about to clap with excitement, eyes fixed wickedly on Harry.

“What slave? Is this the boy with the weird discoloration on his hair? I remember him. In fact I’ve seen him with Liam a couple of times.”

“Have you now?” Louis smirked. At that, Niall blushed gracefully and chose not to say anything in fear that it would only indulge Louis’ mockery.

Niall paused as if debating his opinion about the boy in question. He settled for a, “He seems shy. But anyway, what’s the deal with him? Don’t tell me you’re using your title for sexual favours? I thought that was what Louis was there for?” Louis shot him a death glare that Niall decided to ignore. Harry made this uneasy sort of cackle although he seemed genuinely pleased.

“To suck my cock?” They both sniggered manically at Louis who was raising his head indignantly. “Why, that’s just one of his many talents.” It took a few seconds before the sulkiness returned to his face. “You know, my mother would kill you if she heard you speaking like this to us.”

“Quite literally if I know anything about this place. You’re both impressionable young men and whatnot.” Niall rolled his eyes.

“Enough,” announced Louis as he turned again to face an evasive Harry. “Quit stalling and tell us.” 

“I—What makes you think there’s anything to tell?” And his eyes obviously weren’t darting to the floor as he said it.

“Oh, come on! You’re all—you’re not you. Even Niall can see that.” Niall nodded at that. It was true. Even when he looked bored it was just that: boredom. But today it was more than that. Not the regular absence of emotions but a somewhat troubling feeling maybe? He didn’t know. Louis continued to speak. “It’s been going on for a while, hasn’t it? I mean, whatever’s going on that you’re not telling us. In fact, I haven’t fucked you in what, three weeks?” Niall cleared his throat awkwardly but Louis just scoffed. “It’s because of him, isn’t it? I think you actually like this kid.”

“Fine. Yes, Lou, I like him. You got me.” Harry groaned and slumped back onto the table.

“So…” Niall spoke tentatively.

“So what?” Harry moaned.

“Are you like a secret couple or something? Or does he not know or? I mean, I don’t see a problem. You’re sleeping with him on a regular basis already, right? So what’s wrong?” Niall, it seemed, was the sensible one after all.

Harry looked at the two of them for a while, trying to make out if they were still making fun of him but there was only genuine interest—maybe even concern—on their faces. It was silly, really, being so reluctant to trust them with this if they had been through so much together. They were the only two people he could actually be honest with and he figured they wouldn’t suddenly start judging him.

“We’re not.”

In that moment, somebody knocked twice on the door and let themselves in when Niall let out a, “Come in!” loud enough so that the person behind the door could hear. With a tray of tea and biscuits in hand, Zayn walked in and efficiently displayed everything on the table between the books and papers they were meant to be studying. A very amused Louis watched him as he moved between the three boys without making eye contact with Harry, who was blushing furiously. The room had gone incredibly quiet in the time the servant appeared at the door and Harry prayed the floor would finally swallow him whole just in case Louis decided to do something.

“Your mother sent these. She was concerned since you didn’t have any lunch today—sir.” Zayn tried to talk as calmly as possible as Harry’s puncturing eyes bored into him and made things squirm on his stomach.

“It’s okay, Zayn. They know.” Harry spoke between his fingers as he felt Louis snigger without even having to look at him. Zayn immediately turned a graceful shade of pink although his mouth was halfway open with something like amusement.

“Okay,” was all he said and then he was out the door with Niall calling out a thank-you.

For a few minutes Harry just closed his eyes until he felt that the awful pigment of his cheeks had faded and he could talk normally. “Did that really just happened?” He asked in disbelief.

“Yup,” Niall cheered. “So where were we?”

“More importantly, what was that?” Louis taunted.

“Can you just—ignore it. Please.” He went red again, but more mildly this time.

“Sorry,” Louis winced; noting mentally that the Prince was extra-sensitive today. “But he does know you like him, right? I mean, you don’t seem to be hiding it, or at least you’re doing a very crap job at it.” He smiled to lighten the possible harshness of his words but Harry just giggled a little bit.

“He does.” The Prince sighed. “I’ve told him.”

“You have?” Niall looked impressed. “Well, does he like you back or not?”

“He said he did. I mean—It’s just. It doesn’t feel—Ugh, I don’t know. This is so stupid.” He huffed and started to look around him trying to calm down.

“Haz…” Louis said softly. “You know we’re in no position to judge you. We’re your friends. You have to know that you can tell us anything. That should be obvious by now.”

Harry resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment because Louis (and himself if he was being honest) rarely displayed this level of affection. “I know, Lou.” He went silent for a while and was grateful that the other two were giving him some space to put together his thoughts. “I just—I like him. I don’t know why but he’s different. It’s not at all like what Lou and I have. I know you don’t mind if I’m sleeping with anybody else or if I stop sleeping with you because we’re not, you know, a couple or anything and nobody here cares about us. But he makes me feel different than you do.”

Louis nodded and Harry continued. “I love and hate being with him at the same time. He makes me feel good. Aside from sex, he makes me feel like it’s just me and him, like I’m important for something other than my title. I know it’s silly but he makes me feel. Just feel, you know, something different from bored and generally not impressed.”

“But I hate him too. He’s made me dependent and needy and I absolutely despise it.” He started to raise his voice but the others didn’t say anything wary of upsetting the Prince more. “It’s so, so stupid. I crave for his company like a teenage girl. Sometimes when he comes around and watches me have breakfast that’s the highlight of my day. That’s it. That’s all it takes, just his eyes on me and the thought that maybe I’m on his mind. I can’t have this! I don’t do pining.”

“And you say I have him. Sure, I can have his body a few times a week and I thought, hey, maybe that’ll be enough. Maybe just watching him parade around in that tight black uniform will do it for me. But then he’s talking to me about something from his past or one of the books he secretly reads. Or singing, god, he sings to me sometimes. I don’t think he even realises he does. But it’s beautiful and I just want more. And I can’t have it because he’s a slave.”

“He’s supposed to be a servant. He’s supposed not to know how to even speak but he thinks and has feelings and he’s clever. And I like to think that he genuinely likes me for me, whoever that is. But then what if he feels threatened by the fucking title? What if he’s just in it for the advantages. It makes sense if you think about it. He gets to be almost untouchable if he just lets me fuck him and listens to me ramble. I mean, he hardly ever admits any interest in me. Oh god, what if it’s true? Fuck! There could be others.”

“Sometimes I get jealous for no apparent reason. Though now it at least makes a little more sense if you consider the facts. Who knows what he does when he’s not working or with me. And it’s just—I can’t help thinking about him. It’s the colour of his skin and the lopsided smile and the blonde streak and his voice. And his stupid face. And fuck.” Harry opened his eyes widely as if he had had a sudden epiphany. “I think I’m in love with him. Fuck!” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends in frustration.

“Harry…” Niall’s voice was sympathetic and it sounded awful. 

“No, no, let him. I’ve never seen him quite so out of composure before. I like it.” Louis had a mischievous grin on his face and a glint in his eye despite the fact that he had been almost moved by Harry’s soulful confession.

“It’s not funny!” He yelled.

“It’s a little funny.” Louis spoke calmly.

“How is it funny?” He whined. “I can’t eat; I can’t sleep; I can barely function all because of his stupidly pretty face!” Harry was speaking like every word was acid on his throat.

“It’s funny because you’re essentially upset by a feeling. You’re so out of your element because the closest thing to an emotion has probably been me and that was years ago. And the irony is that it is the most cliché love story in the book. It’s unrequited and forbidden and it makes it all so much better, doesn’t it? And that infuriates you. You’re angry at love. It’s sickeningly romantic.” Louis was calmer now, soothing away Harry’s temper.

Harry blinked perplex at the sheer wisdom of his friend’s words, which was exactly one of the reasons the Prince had kept him around practically all his life. Those little glimpses of serious clarity that kept him sane. Niall too stared wowed at the blue-eyed boy. “So what do I do?” Asked the Prince resignedly.

“I don’t know.”

 

It was about ten at night when the page told him the Prince was expecting him. He hadn’t thought he would be seeing Harry that day since he had some big reunion to attend to outside the castle. Regardless, he was glad he got to see Harry and frankly, it wasn’t like he could say no. Liam was already asleep so he didn’t even bother on saying goodbye. He made his way to Harry’s apartments and found the door was open. He knocked anyways and waited but nobody answered and so he stepped in looking for where Harry might be.

“You seem to have given up on protocol completely,” was Harry’s greeting as he meandered until he finally reached the servant, a glass of some dark liquid in his hand.

“What?” Asked Zayn confused.

“You’re pretty.” Harry took the servant’s cheeks brusquely and forced him to pout. “You have a pretty mouth.”

“Harry, what are you doing?” Whispered Zayn, kind of frightened as the Prince shoved him against one of the bedposts and sandwiched him with his own body, clumsily making little bites along his neck. The servant stood still as the Prince’s hands raised his shirt and ran through his skin and down his pants. 

Zayn went suddenly numb with the realisation of what was about to come. Stories of slaves abused by their masters ran through his mind as he felt Harry hard against his thigh. But Harry wasn’t like that. He was good. He asked for consent; if something was alright. He was kind. But the boy desperately scratching Zayn’s hips showed no interest in what he wanted whatsoever. And so he cursed himself for being so stupid to fall into this mess that he knew he would end up in.

“You’re drunk.” It was kind of a question, kind of a plea for Harry to wake up and stop fooling around because the joke really wasn’t funny. He felt Harry’s inebriated breath on his mouth and had to resist the urge to throw up.

“What? You don’t like it? I didn’t think you would mind.” He purred into Zayn’s ear as he bit on it harshly and pressed bruises to his hips. “I thought you liked it rough.” Before Zayn could react, the Prince was grabbing at him and spinning him around and against the cold wood, yanking his pants down and pressing himself against the boy.

“Please don’t.” He whispered.

“Don’t what?” Harry growled against Zayn’s ear, holding him harshly by the wrist with one hand and running his fingernails down the boy’s sides with the other.

“Don’t do this.” Zayn was barely able to mutter the words and doubted Harry had heard over his own shallow breathing. Without realising, Zayn’s eyes had started to water and a couple of tears were running down his cheeks. His free hand tensed around the pole as he prepared for what was inevitably about to come. He turned his head so that at least the Prince wouldn’t have the wicked satisfaction of seeing him cry.

“You’ve done it a million times. What’s the fucking problem?” Said the Prince as he ran a fingernail down one of Zayn’s ass cheeks and up his crack. 

“Not like this.” The servant’s voice was suffused with fear but he managed to give a somewhat determined answer to Harry in the blind hope reason would kick in.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything to that pretty face of yours.” Harry’s words were slurred out into a single line that was barely decipherable. A shock formed at the base of Zayn’s neck and clung to his spine, sending a numbing shiver to his limbs. He felt the Prince hold his arms painfully behind his back and nudge his obscene erection against his skin, panic spiking in his brain and pain starting to surge up his body. Harry went halfway in as the Servant stood still, shivering.

“Harry, what the fuck are you doing?” Zayn heard someone shout and opened his eyes to try and see if it wasn’t just his mind saving him from reality. Indeed it wasn’t, and ever-so-grateful he noticed a bewildered Louis standing in the middle of the doorway. “Fucking hell, Harry, he’s crying.” The duke rushed inside the room and took Harry by the arm, shaking him until he was vaguely aware of Louis’ presence. “Let him go!” Meanwhile, Zayn hurried to gather himself up before anything else could happen. His cheeks were still stained with tears and his eyes gave no sign of stopping. It was like his body was working on its own and had left him behind. Thankfully though, because he doubted he could function properly by himself.

“I came to make sure you were alright…” Louis was staring determinedly at the floor as he spoke. “I’m getting you to bed.” He looked at Harry, who was finding some spot at the ceiling incredibly funny. “And you should go.”

Zayn didn’t need to be told twice. He murmured a thank-you and was on his way. For every step he took once he left the room, a tear blurred his vision until he was being guided by memory alone. The walk felt endless as he tried his best not to be spotted by any of the guards that usually gave him trouble. Nothing happened, thankfully, and in minutes he had reached his dormitory. Liam was still asleep, naturally, and for once he wished he would wake up and take care of him.

 

The next day, he followed his routine without any deviances and even carried his tasks with particular effort. There were no traces of the tears of the previous night, and if Liam asked about his wellbeing in the morning, he seemed to know better not to push it.It was an excuse to ignore his problems and he knew it. Although in all honesty, it wasn’t like a predicament of this sort had a solution. Enduring the puns and catcalls did feel like more of a burden than ever but he managed to put up a cover and keep on.

Sooner than he would have liked, eleven o’clock came around and he was paged to bring the Prince his breakfast. He laughed bitterly at himself when no one was looking as he took the tray and made his way up. And suddenly the door was right in front of him. No pep talk would do and not all the time in the world would prepare him to face what was behind; it was pointless. The irrational fear of just being in the other’s presence, not to mention the nausea, felt like too much. Took just too much energy he didn’t have. Too much hurt settling deep inside his every bone.

He knocked twice and waited. A grumbled ‘come in’ indicated once again he had no choice and so he figured it was even more pointless to add anxiety to the list of feelings in which he was drowning. Without further preambles, he made his way inside and directed almost mechanically to the table by the window. Harry was already waiting and his face looked heartbreakingly solemn despite the clear hangover he was hosting. Zayn made no eye contact as he worked to get everything set up in record time.

“Zayn,” began the Prince.

“May I go now, your Highness?” Zayn’s voice was no more than a whisper but it came out loud enough in the piercing silence. Harry seemed to be measuring his words, his face sinking at the formality. Finally, avoiding the servant’s gaze, he allowed an okay and just like that it was over. Now all he had to do was continue like that until the Prince got rid of him.

 

Only once he was out and the door was shut did he allow himself to release the breath he had been metaphorically holding. Needing to be alone, he snuck into a service closet in one of the halls and sank to the floor, shaking with anguish. Breathing was painful. He felt betrayed mostly, by himself and by the Prince though he thought he had known better. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten involved with the Prince in the first place. It was definitely a mistake. He knew he should have kept distance. He knew he shouldn’t have played along and taken it so far. He knew it would end badly one way or another. He knew he should have never developed feelings and felt a little embarrassed at how quickly they seemed to have developed. And yet, he still felt like it wasn’t fair.

He refused to believe that this was Harry’s true nature. He had been drunk lots of times before; that was no excuse. But then why had he bothered to pretend he cared? What was the point of leading Zayn on? This was the guy that had waited months to be with Zayn, who had made an effort to make him comfortable, who never, ever pushed too far. But Zayn still couldn’t help but feel like an idiot because reality was: whatever the Prince had been playing with him, it was over.

 

It had almost been two weeks of Zayn awkwardly avoiding spending time with the Prince as much as he could. He wasn’t as frightful as he had been at first, and it really helped that the Prince hadn’t given him any further trouble. They couldn’t quite meet each other’s gaze and so every sentence was directed at some wall. Zayn had managed to know whenever Harry wasn’t around and by the time Harry came over he was just finishing or didn’t actually get to see him at all.

That evening he had been paged for no real reason and so he was specially reluctant to go up and face whatever Harry wanted. When he finally made it inside, he found Harry sitting on the divan, fidgeting with a blanket. It was really cold despite the fire and he cursed himself for imagining that if nothing had happened he would probably be wrapped in the wool with Harry.

“You paged, sir?” Zayn said from across the room.

“Zayn, please,” Harry started.

“Is there anything I can do for you, my Lord?” Persisted Zayn but his tone came out too weak.

“Please, I just want to talk to you,” insisted the Prince.

“You can do whatever you want—your Highness.” Zayn looked like he was about to stifle a sob and he doubted Harry had missed it.

The Prince seemed to wince at the declaration but somehow appeared more determined. “I think I need to apologise. I’m not really sure how far I went but… from what Louis told me I really crossed the line with you and—”

“You don’t remember?” Zayn almost wanted to laugh. How was it even possible for Harry to forget about something like that when he relived it every night?

“I—no.” Harry looked down once again, suddenly too ashamed to face Zayn’s deep eyes. “I’m not sure what it was I took that night but it was way more than just alcohol.” He paused, throat gone dry. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything.”

By this point Zayn had lost complete control of his emotions, somehow this felt entirely worse. Tears stained his flushed cheeks, his hands were shaking and his heart felt like it was going to give out. “You—” The servant gulped, unsure of what he was going to say in the first place. He gently removed each layer of clothing on his torso, exposing his golden skin and feeling more self-conscious than ever.

Harry watched in silent horror as the blotches of colour stretched across Zayn’s body came to view. He could see the press of his fingers against his left forearm, distinctive deep dark bruises despite how much time had passed. Another dark mark was present on his right arm and a sickly yellow ring on his wrist. Zayn’s sides displayed a variety of fading bruises accompanied by what looked like scratches that had ripped his soft skin. The prominent outline of one of the boy’s hips was covered in a rainbow of hues that didn’t belong there and the skin over the other brutally marred with scratches that had left it almost raw.

Harry was completely at a loss as his eyes roamed again and again over the marks on Zayn’s pretty skin. “Shit, Zayn.” His voice came out unnatural to his own ears. “Can I—?” He stretched a hand out.

Zayn shivered. “No.” Harry’s face immediately sank. “I’d rather if you didn’t.” He looked down feeling dumb and proceeded to put his clothes back on.

“Do you hate me?” Asked the Prince after what felt like forever.

Zayn felt like that was the one question he could not answer.  Because really, it would be kind of humiliating if he suddenly started ranting like a teenager about how confused he felt.  He wished he could rewind and change the direction the conversation had taken, or rather avoid having it in the first place. Maybe he should have insisted more firmly on sticking to the Prince-servant relationship. Or maybe he should just face the Prince for once without fear of fucking up and having his head cut off. At the back of his mind the permanent reminder that he couldn't trust Harry the way he wanted to remained a constant torment.

He realised the Prince was still looking at him with those soft green eyes. It was hard to believe those same eyes were the ones looking at him blindly from lust and opiates two weeks ago. It even was easier to believe it was a complete different person. "I really want to," he let out in one breath. "I should." It was like the more those unreadable eyes watched him, the harder it was for him to think clearly. "No," he said in a small voice, as if he was giving up, "I don't."

The Prince stared. His expression seemed somewhat more at ease, the servant realised, but it was still just as blank as every other time he had spoken. He shifted under the Prince's shameless scrutiny, and made a mental note to stop calling him Harry once and for all. It was for the best. Maybe that way it would be easier to fall back on track and forget about whatever this affair with the Prince had been. He doubted it had meant anything in reality, and so he figured he shouldn't get attached. He wasn't already, not at all.

"Does it still hurt?" The Prince suddenly spoke. "The bruises, I mean."

"Not really," he lied. It certainly hurt less than at the beginning, when even breathing made his muscles stretch uncomfortably and pull at the beaten skin, causing the pain to perpetuate day and night, as if the mental reminders weren't enough. But it was still there sometimes, when he leaned against something, or Liam patted his arm, or he moved.

Maybe he was being stupid. Far worse things had happened to the people around him and none of them seemed to keep dwelling on it. None of them displayed any kind of burden other than their regular, petty aches. He knew it was different in the slave houses though; he had been in one when they first took him for sale. The only thing those poor people knew was fear. It was stamped on their faces, mirroring their peers. But here, where the most lucky ones ended up, those haunting phantoms seemed not to exist or were just swept under the rug until one day someone went looking for them and realised they were gone. Instead, they made room for new afflictions. New preoccupations were brought by the life in the castle; more to do with attire and discretion and sex. And somehow Zayn had managed to get a bit of everything. Lucky, one of his friends had said.

The elder members of the staff frowned upon 'foolish' boys like Zayn. People that to their more experienced eyes appeared to be willing to give whatever in exchange for temporary benefits that would last as long as they kept the other party interested. They knew those didn't end up with much. In contrast, the younger lads seemed to be on an unspoken—and sometimes even spoken—race to get people like Harry's—the Prince's—attention. To their eyes, it was the easy way out. If they were lucky, they became an escort, or a butler, or even an adviser. Truth be told, Zayn didn't want any of those things. He had been reluctant to fall for the Prince's promises despite his insistence until the very last.

"You should stay with me." The Prince woke Zayn from his thoughts. "At least let me take care of you."

"It's alright," Zayn said maybe quicker than necessary. "Liam's helped me out."

"Of course he has," replied his Highness with just a dash of bitterness.

Zayn frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" He said boldly.

The Prince was completely taken aback. He composed himself though, and sat a little straighter as he proceeded to speak. "It means it's obvious you two have something going on. I just wish you had told me earlier that there were others." Harry spit out the last word with particular distaste. Zayn hated himself momentarily for being so weak. But as much as he tried he couldn't stop the tears pricking at his eyes from rolling free.

"What?" He choked out.

"I'm just saying," the Prince continued, decidedly ignoring the way his heart shrank when he saw Zayn start to cry again. It absolutely did not make him feel more guilty. "I understand why it was easy for you to forget about me. Am I even really the first you've been with? Who was it? What have they promised you? Because really I doubt anyone can beat me." The Prince scoffed.

The Servant felt as if he had been slapped. "There's no one else." He felt the room spin. "There never has been." Another set of tears fell down his flushed cheeks.

"Oh, come on!" The Prince rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me I'm the only one to have noticed such a pretty face." Zayn felt even more awful, if that was possible. It was as if Harry saw him as merely an object, valuable for a fleeting beauty that was entirely subjective and unrelated to what was inside. His mind immediately flashed back to that very night and the exact words the Prince had spoken.

Zayn wrapped his arms around himself. "What happened to you?" He breathed out. "Why are you suddenly attacking me?"

"I didn't think you would care so much, Zayn." He said mockingly. Zayn felt completely lost.

"There's never been anyone else," insisted Zayn. "You have to believe me!" He pleaded.

"'There has never been anyone else.' That's bullshit!" Harry stood up and he shivered. "What about your 'roommate?'"

"Liam? Don't bring him into this. There's never been anything—anything at all between us."

"I don't believe you." By now they were standing very straight in front of the other with what felt like a wall between them.

"Why!" By now, Zayn had stopped crying although his voice was still raw and unnatural. "Why are you turning this on me in the first place?" He whined as his face went hot. "You tried to rape me! God knows what would have happened if the Duke hadn't appeared on time! You saw the fucking bruises you gave me. You abused me!" By now, Zayn was properly yelling at a very perplex Harry that could do nothing but glare as Zayn continued now more encouraged. “I don't understand what happened! Why are you all of a sudden thinking that I go around giving it out for free? Just because you're a slut doesn't mean everyone else is too. Just because you own me doesn't mean I mirror your ways. I am not a whore and it's always been just you." He dared to look Harry in the eyes and was surprised to see the Prince didn't look angry. "What do you care anyway? Do you not think I've seen them? The girls they send up here almost every week. The counts and the dukes; the possible spouses your parents want you to try out; the parade of men, women—sometimes I think even children—that you bring back? Do you think I haven't noticed? You think I don't care?"

Harry was looking everywhere but at him. His faced seemed uncomfortable and—sad? Zayn was horrified by all that had just come out and was fighting back a brand new set of tears. "Come on, Zayn, you know why I do it. I can't just—why are you doing this?" He swallowed and faced something behind the boy. "It's not fair." He said softly.

Whatever double meaning he intended was completely overlooked by an outraged Zayn. "Not fair? Honestly? You're going for that?" He accused but Harry couldn't meet his tearing gaze. "Why did you try to rape me? What was the thrill in that, tell me. Was it some kind of punishment?" Zayn saw the hurtful effect his words were having and couldn't help but find some satisfaction in it. "Did I do anything wrong, my Prince? What happened to no one’s gonna hurt you? Was that 'bullshit' too?" He felt a chill run down his spine. "I'm so stupid."

"You don't understand!" Harry spoke in that royal manner that drove Zayn mad, not exactly with anger.

"Then explain." He looked around, frustrated. "What are we doing? What is this—?" Zayn had given up on fighting, and now he looked just pliant. If he allowed himself to be honest, all he wanted was for Harry to hold him and tell him it had all just been a bad dream. The Prince chose to remain silent and somehow that was bad enough. Zayn felt a stab to his chest and his heart sink.  "We were never really anything, were we?"

The slave walked to the door feeling like his limbs might give out in any minute. The room was spinning and it felt like his life was crumbling down. It ached all over, not just from the bruises. He never imagined it could end this bad and the fact that he would probably have to be back in a few hours to bring the Prince something made it entirely worse.

"Zayn..." The Prince called out. The servant turned around, determined to at least hold it together this time. The Prince cleared his throat awkwardly, "I'll have you reassigned to something better. You—you won't have to see me so much."

He should have felt relief, or gladness, or something. But he somehow felt a sting at the thought of not seeing Harry on a regular basis. He had become so dependent so fast, he hated it. He somehow felt like nothing had really been cleared up. He had ended up even more confused as to where Harry stood but figured it was useless to push it. He settled for a goodbye and closed the door.

 

"You paged, your Highness?" Liam said as he lowered his head and closed the door to the Prince's studio. It was a cold morning and Harry was catching up on some letters he had been neglecting. Some animal’s fur was spread over his legs to keep him warm while he worked in the solitude of his private office.

"Ah, yes! It's Liam, right?" The Prince chirped.

"It is, my Prince." Liam was thoroughly overwhelmed by the fact that Harry knew his name. He felt important and curious at the same time. It filled him with giddiness and made his day entirely. That was the type of person Liam was.

"No, please—don't call me that.” For a moment, it almost sounded like Zayn. He had been trying his best not to think about those golden eyes at all for the couple of days since he last saw him and so far was failing miserably. Everything smelled of Zayn. Breakfast felt incomplete without a tan, fragile boy sitting across him reading something important and making comments on how good the cook’s tea was. There were no rendezvous on the castle’s fields and no stolen kisses before the servant disappeared behind the door. “Um—"

"I apologise, your Highness." Liam stuttered and turned white, thinking someone had forgotten to inform him of the basic rules around his Majesty. How did Zayn go around this on a daily basis and he never paid attention?

"It's—sorry—it's fine." He paused. "I called you here because I want to make you my personal servant." He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Liam gawked and Harry giggled. "Wow, that's an amazing opportunity. I, um—I'm flattered." Liam beamed, feeling like this was the biggest honour in the world. Instead, Harry looked bored. If there wasn’t a pair of inappropriately plump lips and dark, heavy lashes on the other end, he wasn’t interested.

"Good." The Prince smirked to keep up his act. "Because it's not a question."

 

“They’ve made me one of the Prince’s valets!” Liam cheered once Zayn got back from one of his shifts. He was exhausted and barely paid attention to what Liam was saying because honestly, Liam got excited over anything. “We’ll be working together! I mean, it'll be kind of awkward with whatever you two have going on. I'm not sure how that works. Does he shag you every time you go up there? Man, that's a lot of—”

“I don’t work for the Prince anymore, Liam.” Zayn tried his best to look simply apologetic.

“What?” The enthusiasm drained from Liam’s voice almost comically. “What happened? Is that why you’ve been sulking? He did that, didn’t he? He gave you those bruises! Jesus Christ. He just beat you up and discarded you like nothing!” That really wasn’t helping. “He’s a monster. What if he does the same thing to me! Oh god, are you alright?”

Zayn was just so tired. Too tired to try and explain everything to Liam but also to just shrug it off. He found himself sighing deeply and looking up at Liam, who had a puzzled expression on his face. “He won’t, don’t worry. Don’t call him a monster, okay?” Zayn’s eyes were pleading.

Liam opened his mouth and closed it again, as if reconsidering something. “He did do it, though? Beat you up, I mean.” The fact that Zayn could not even meet his eyes was confirmation enough.

“He didn’t—he didn’t mean to hurt me. He was just… too rough.” To his ears, the irony of how he was defending him after all that happened seemed like a sick joke. But he didn’t want Liam thinking the Prince was an awful person that did this sort of thing all the time.

“Are you really okay?” Liam said as he sat on his own bunk.

“I’ll be fine.” And for now it was enough to pretend like lying in Liam’s arms was enough to fill the void in his heart.

 

Zayn was immediately reassigned as a footman like Harry had promised. It was certainly not as fun as being the Prince's attendant and he never got to try the food being served but it was a nice change. He hardly ever had long enough breaks that allowed him to think too much, and he was grateful for that if anything.  It also helped that he had standard shifts and so had managed to fall into a routine that was easy enough to get himself back together.

Thoughts of Harry were absolutely not driving him mad. Apart from that first night when he'd arrived at the bedrooms a complete wreck and had fallen into Liam's gentle arms who had gladly taken care of him and reassured him that everything would be alright despite how much it hurt right now. He had also checked on Zayn's injuries with a motherly look on his face and efficient hands. He was glad to have been lucky enough to have gotten someone like him for a roommate.

Except after about a week he started missing Harry. Properly missing. It crept up in the most unexpected of times. He was serving someone wine, and suddenly they said something, and the expression sounded so much like something the Prince would say, although the tone was completely wrong and he felt tempted to say that they weren’t doing it right. He abstained, of course, but the fond memory stuck.  Everything came that way, a scent, a word, a way of the hand. All little details that summed up the perfect memory of the Prince but the person behind them didn't have chocolate curls or green, childish eyes or an obscene mouth.

This was his life now. There was nothing he could do about it and he had to accept that. It had been foolish to think the Prince would suddenly start taking his meals at the dining hall and he quickly gave that hope up too. He wanted to go back to the greenhouse once but doubted he was still allowed in and so decided against it. It was harder to wake up in the morning knowing he had kissed Harry for the last time and couldn't even remember it.

 

It was dark and snowy outside and Harry was wide awake. The sun was just about to rise yet he hadn’t been able to close his eyes for more than five minutes. It was funny, he thought idly, that he couldn’t feel more peaceful and—he almost dared say—happy and it was like his body wanted to hold on to those feelings as much as possible and therefore couldn’t waste precious time on sleep. The fire had gone out about an hour ago and in normal circumstances he would have thrown a fit at the ineptitude of his servants but then he felt a shallow huff on his chest and remembered he couldn’t care less about the fire because the body clinging to him was warmth enough.

He loved the way Zayn slept. That’s right, he loved it. The word made his cheeks flush and his arm wrap tighter around the other boy’s body. He loved the way his mouth fell slightly open and it turned a beautiful, soft pink; definitely a nice change from the usual bruised red he got after too much kissing. He loved the way Zayn’s eyelashes curved against his glowing skin. He loved the sex hair, and the way he seemed indolently comfortable and relaxed. But his personal favourite was the way Zayn’s hand gripped his side tightly and his legs entangled around his like he couldn’t dare let go of Harry.

Probably because Harry had been staring at him for what seemed like ages, Zayn’s eyelids fluttered open slowly and his pupils fixed on him. They seemed to be reaching into the depths of his soul and what would have made anyone else uncomfortable under such scrutiny was one of the reasons Harry loved him so much. “Hey,” Harry rasped, running a hand through the other boy’s soft hair and giving him a little kiss on the forehead. “You should go back to sleep. It’s not even morning yet.” While he talked, he lulled Zayn by rubbing his hand against his neck and playing with the hair at the back. Zayn hummed in appreciation and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

Zayn opened his eyes again and found two emeralds staring right back at him with fondness. “Hi there.” He smiled. “Why are you awake?” He lifted his head as his hand moved up to rest on Harry’s shoulder.

“Can’t sleep,” murmured the Prince.

Zayn frowned. “How long have you been staring at me?” He asked with an amused pitch in his voice.

Harry turned a graceful shade of pink. “A while,” he said with giddiness. “Sorry.”

Zayn smiled and pecked Harry on the cheek. “Don’t be. It’s cute.”

“It is?” Said Harry sheepishly as Zayn pulled him closer until they were both on their side facing each other and so close all they could see was each other’s faces. Zayn’s legs were still entwined with Harry’s and the Prince’s hand permanently fixed to Zayn’s waist.

“Yeah,” mumbled Zayn as he buried his face on Harry’s chest once more.

Harry buried his face on Zayn’s hair. It smelled of something like lavender. His hand ghosted over the boy’s arm and back down. Everything felt like perfect for once and he thought he might actually be satisfied if he just had these few minutes before sunrise for the rest of his days. Zayn hummed against his skin, sending a pleasant shiver through his nerves. He felt happy like that. It was as if they had been together forever in that same position; like that was the sum of everything they’d ever lived for. He felt like he had the world’s greatest treasure.

I love you. I love you. “I love you.” It was merely a breath stifled by Zayn’s thick hair.

“What!” Panic rose in Harry’s head as the words hit his brain and startled him. He grumbled, hating to be woken up and to have dreamt such torturous illusions. It was awfully cold and he remembered bitterly the warmth accompanying him in his dreams. He felt like something had been ripped from him. There was a missing weight next to him that had never been there in the first place. He realised he had been gripping the pillow next to him with such force he had pulled some threads loose. He groaned.

“Lou…” His throat was dry and it was uncomfortable to talk. “’M sleeping.” He didn’t dare open his eyes just yet. “Why on earth are you yelling?” After a few minutes of silence, Harry thought maybe Louis had left or hadn’t even been there in the first place and so decided to go back to sleep. That was until he felt a sudden slump next to him and he had to give up completely on the possibility of privacy. He had been naïve to think he would be drifting off again anytime soon.

“Did you know you talk on your sleep?” Louis said smirking. “It’s cute.” He stated as he ruffled Harry’s hair.

“How long have you been in here?” He said blinking.

“Long enough.” He sniggered. “I’d say you were having a rather pleasant dream with a certain member of the help.” Louis wiggled his eyebrows and sat upright.

“It wasn’t like that.” Harry protested.

“Wasn’t it?” Louis’ eyebrows quirked up towards the ceiling as his eyes darted down, gesturing to the obscene bulge sticking up under the covers. Harry half smirked but the purpose was lost with his still heavy eyelids. Louis rolled his eyes and sighed. He lay down next to the Prince and stared at the ceiling. It was weird to be on that bed wearing so many clothes. “Come on,” he seemed to make up his mind, “You can’t stay here forever.” He said with more intent.

“Try me,” Harry whined.

“I’m serious. Come on, you’ve got to get up and go out.” He stood up straight. “You’ve been wallowing for almost three weeks now. It’s not healthy and honestly it’s kind of pathetic.” He didn’t mean to be rude but it was truly getting out of hand. Harry hadn’t left his room since he last saw Zayn. At first Louis thought it would be good to give him some space. But then a week had passed and Niall started to worry so they tried to take a lesson or two in the Prince’s chambers. It was fruitless of course. Harry didn’t even bother on protesting or making a sarcastic comment or anything. He just spent the entirety of the day staring out the window and sighing a lot or sleeping—or crying, but Louis didn’t want to mention that, and if he had seen the stains on Harry’s cheeks a few too many times, he was wiser as to focus on something else.

“I’ve not.” He said dramatically. “And I find you offensive,” spoke Harry with his eyes closed.

“Shut up,” ordered Louis. “And get up.” He yanked the covers off Harry’s naked body, who faked indignation, but Louis knew better as to ignore him and throw them over the edge of the bed. He proceeded to quite literally pull Harry by the ankles until his legs were entirely off the bed. “You’re acting like it’s the end of the world,” continued Louis as he handed Harry a robe to put on. While he fetched it, Harry climbed back and wrapped his hands around his knees like a little kid. It took Louis all his willpower not to slap Harry right on his fucking face.

“But it is!” He squealed childishly. Louis clambered back after him with an annoyed look on his face. Before he could do anything, there was a knock on the door and then Liam was walking in carefully with the breakfast Harry was surely not going to eat. He didn’t even notice the two bodies on the bed staring at him.

“And who’re you?” Asked Louis mischievously, moving towards the footboard so he could peer through the veil.

“I’m Liam, sir.” He said slowly, looking like a deer caught in the middle of the road.

“Yes, well, I knew that. You’re Niall’s bo—” He was cut off by a pinch to his arm, most certainly from Harry. He scowled and resumed his interrogation. “—friend.” Liam’s face went a comical shade of red. “But what are you doing here, Liam?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m—um—Zayn’s replacement. Sir.” Liam was still quite flushed but the mortified expression was slowly making its way out of his features.

Louis sniggered. “Not quite.” He ran his eyes up and down his body shamelessly. “You’d do well, though. With those arms…” He rested his forearms on the footboard with his head in his hands and sighed heavily. Liam felt completely out of place there and thought he should give Zayn more credit for putting up with things like this on a daily basis. 

“Enough!” Harry said as he sat next to Louis and smacked him on the back of the head. Louis made an indignant grunt. “Leave him alone, Lou. You’re making him uncomfortable.” Liam shifted. “Besides, he’s Niall’s.” He cheered with a smirk.

“May I go now, your Majesty?” Liam said as he stared at the floor.

“Yes.” Louis made an unimpressed sound but Harry ignored it. Liam was already walking towards the door when, “Wait!” Louis and Liam both turned to look at him in unison, clueless as to what the Prince intended. “Can I ask you a question, Liam?” Louis furrowed his brow but Harry continued to ignore him. “…And you won’t tell Zayn,” he finished. Louis rolled his eyes.

“I suppose. Sir.” Liam looked doubtful.

“Do you think—” He dared a glance at Louis but he was giving him a judging look and so he returned to Liam’s much more amicable face. “Is he miserable?” Louis quite literally and unabashedly face-palmed, making a loud noise and startling Harry.

Harry still stared at the servant hopefully—not sure for what—waiting for an answer. Louis still didn’t comment but kept the disapproving look in place. Liam took a while more than Harry liked to finally make up an answer. “Um, well—he’s not told me anything but… I think so.” His face almost looked apologetic for giving Harry an answer that was even more disconcerting than what he had imagined.

“You can go now, Liam,” put in Louis sensing Harry was done with talking on the whole. The servant obliged without question and in a couple of seconds they were left alone. “This has really got into your skin, hasn’t it?” Said Louis quietly. He was trying not to stare but Harry’s sinking face was too obvious.

“It’s him.” He said as if that were explanation enough. Harry pulled at a quilt and hid in it. “I want him,” he continued. “…and I miss him. And I’ve really fucked up.” Louis was sure he felt Harry start to weep again and couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed. Instead he shuffled closer and brought him into his arms, giving him a soft kiss to his temples.

“…You know I’m not judgemental but,” Louis whispered after a while. “May I ask why you did it?” They were still gathered against the footboard in a strangely familiar arrangement. What subjects and peers failed to notice was that despite them being legally adults and Harry being obviously burdened with too many responsibilities and titles, they were still kids. Being so overprotected and spoiled meant they always appeared to be these careless heirs who didn’t know pain. But in reality they often found themselves in that room, one of them an utter mess, confused and scared and with no one else to turn to.

Harry had calmed a bit and his crying had reduced to occasional dry sobs. “I honestly don’t know,” he mumbled.

Harry started crying again but with no real energy into it. His grip tightened against Louis’ shirt as he buried his face onto the other’s shoulder. He was so tired of aching, but he felt as bad as he did weeks ago. Louis kept a firm arm around his shoulders and the other hand rubbing his head. “It’s alright.” He whispered. “It’s going to be okay.” Slowly Harry fell asleep again despite it being noon, a habit he had well taken up in the last month.

 

Harry was standing in front of the mirror. It felt strangely nervous to finally leave his room and act like he was capable of holding himself together. He checked everything was effectively in place despite his mother having sent a more than efficient stylist and tailor to dress him for the evening. His light brown shoes shined and tapped against the wooden floor in a beautiful rhythm. Tight white trousers hid underneath a pristine white, long jacket, trimmed with overly-detailed ornaments with pearls and golden threads and whatnot.His hair was gently combed back in even waves that were so unlike him but he went along with it on the grounds that he couldn’t care less.Even his cheeks were stained with a little blush that the stylist had strongly insisted on putting on his face despite his allegations that makeup was a bit too much. The cologne, though, turned out to be quite uncomfortable as it was giving him allergies.

“Ready, darling?” He heard Louis call from the doorway. “Everyone downstairs is waiting for you.”

Harry gave himself one last look in the mirror and nodded. “Yeah,” he sighed and made it for the exit.

 

Winter had finally come with its white mantle to cover up the kingdom. As it was tradition, the King and Queen offered a great ball to celebrate the end of the year and bring luck for the tougher times. Noble men from all across the reign came for the festival that sometimes lasted even two and three days. Not only the castle took part in the festivities, villages all across the land had their own version of the party. It was practically a national holiday.

Zayn surprisingly wasn’t attending that night because he had insisted on covering everyone that was working on the preparations’ shifts the week before so they had moved his night off to today. He wasn’t doing okay, truth be told. He was far from okay. But his chores kept him busy enough to ignore his problems at least until he was alone and it came in convenient that if he had that night off then he wouldn’t have to watch the Prince dance with everything with a cleavage—or a pulse and take god knows how many back to his royal chambers. But Liam had insisted on them at least going to see what all the fuss was about. Liam himself had never participated because he worked inside up until the Prince changed Zayn for him. And he didn’t need to attend to the Prince at all since, well, there were plenty of regular waiters out there.

They watched from one of the countless balconies on the second floor. The view before them was stunning. The chandeliers were all at full display, expensive silks hanging from one to the other. Banquet tables stretched endlessly from one side of the room to the other. In the centre was the dance-floor surrounded by carts of souvenirs and attractions and all kinds of ornaments. The orchestra played at the middle of the far wall and its music floated all the way up to their ears. People never stopped arriving, each with a gift for the royal family and an expensive dress to show off. The atmosphere was joyous and inviting and Zayn wouldn’t mind it if he didn’t have such a headache due to a certain Prince, who, by the way, was nowhere to be found.

Knowing him, he wouldn’t even show up at all just to be a little more of a bitch, excuse the language. Zayn’s mind was a bit contradictory. He felt not having Ha—the Prince—there should make it easier for him and actually allow him to enjoy the celebration going on downstairs. But at the same time it hurt and worried him beyond belief that he wasn’t there at all and Zayn just missed him so much. He told himself just one look to know he hadn’t drowned in a pool of bourbon would be enough. Logically he knew it wouldn’t but it was nice to pretend.

Liam was saying something about the lighting or something meaningless when someone silently approached them from the staircase. “Hey,” the blonde said with a small, genuine smile on his face. He walked over next to Liam and rested his hand on the stone railing.

“Hey!” Liam said rather flustered. “Ni, this is—” He said gesturing with his right to Zayn and shyly resting his left on Niall’s hand.

“The greeting was extended to you too, Zayn.” Niall said amusedly as he waved.

“It’s nice to see you again, Niall.” Zayn smiled back.

“Wait—you two know each other?” Liam looked from one to the other repeatedly in disbelief while the others just stared delighted. “How come nobody told me?” He whined.

“We met the other day at the library.” Niall put in and then hesitated. “The boys told me what happened… I’m very sorry.” Liam laced their fingers together. “Are you okay?” He looked truly apologetic and Zayn felt sick.

He hoped the look on his face didn’t give away how much he was wincing inwardly. “I’m—yeah,” he lied for the thousandth time, “I’m hanging in there.” He smiled.

“I can’t believe you two wouldn’t think to tell me that you’ve met!” Liam squealed, making the other two forget all about the previous topic.

“I’m sorry, dear.” Niall cheered and gave Liam a little kiss on the cheek, making him blush furiously and his eyes to widen comically. “We’ll be sure to inform you of any and all encounters we might have in the future.” To which Zayn nodded side-smirking.

The three of them went quiet in unspoken agreement as Louis and the Prince were seen entering the room finally. The rest of the royal family was already gathered at the head of the room on their respective thrones. Harry had a lopsided grin on his face but his dimples weren’t showing. Zayn’s heart sank immediately against his head’s protests. He looked so damn good it infuriated Zayn to the point he felt his head start to throb again. How the hell was he even able to walk around like nothing had happened at all? Like he owned the place, and Zayn knew he did, but it didn’t give him the right to feel like he owned the people in it. Zayn took this very personally.

The crowd danced and cheered for about an hour in which the servant watched miserably as the Prince chatted and swayed with basically everyone. He even recognised a bunch of people he knew Harry had brought upstairs, which made him even sicker. He had planned to go even before Niall arrived, but he knew Liam wouldn’t let him out of his sight and he thought it would be selfish to separate them when they rarely ever got to spend time together, even if it meant having Zayn and some guards as chaperones. Niall and Liam had snuck into the space between two pillars; one made part of the railing and the other just a regular column in which they fit perfectly if they pressed their bodies together and didn’t let go of each other’s mouths. It was nauseating, and one of the guards, Paul, a friend of Liam’s, was giving Zayn knowing looks. Zayn nodded and chuckled occasionally but his eyes were too fixed on following the white dot with curls across the hall.

A little around what Zayn thought must have been midnight, the trumpets began to sing in unison, indicating the guests to pause and take a seat if they could. Even Niall and Liam broke apart to pay attention to whatever was about to come. They had a satisfied yet guilty look on both their faces and their hands seemed never to separate. It was definitely important but Zayn was clueless. Then King William stood up to address the crowd that roared for their ruler. Eventually most of them came to a halt and the King began to speak. The speech was long, way too long. Zayn would have tried to pay attention to it if it wasn’t for the displeased look on the Prince’s face and the adorable way in which he camouflaged his yawns. He could see the passionate gestures and the strong accent and cadence with which he spoke; proper ways of behaviour for which he was greatly admired. But Zayn was still sixteen years old and couldn’t care less about how much the King loved his subjects if his son himself would end up trying to rape the staff members anyway.

At some point the voice faded into one strong sentence and then the rest of the royal family was standing up alongside him and everyone was raising their glasses into the air. The King shouted once more, “To England!” And the crowd roared, “To England!” And everyone was clinking with their glasses and drinking to their beloved kingdom.

The rest of the evening passed by significantly more unceremonious with everyone getting noticeably drunker practically by the minute. That, of course, included the royal family. Edward, for one, was pretty much stumbling over everyone from one corner of the room to the other, laughing hysterically at everything and anything. Gemma danced with her fiancé with the poise and elegance that characterised her. The Prince, on the other hand, kept flirting with girls whose cleavages were about to burst open but couldn’t help but look awfully bored the longer time passed.

He imagined how different it would be if he and his Highness were still doing that thing they did (and he called it a thing because he was pretty sure what they were doing was not included in his services and besides the Prince had repeatedly said he wanted Zayn and he wasn’t willing to let that go just yet but they never had any labels either so). He figured he would probably be down there with him just one step behind while the Prince winked at him from some stranger’s back because that was just who he was. Or maybe they wouldn’t be there at all and Zayn would be pinned against some wall getting the shit fucked out of him. Or he would be up there too with him, just watching the crowd in silence. And all those facets of his personality were what made it hard to let go.

At some point though, in what Zayn thought was the early hours of the morning, he was looking without really paying attention at the general public swaying in what he thought must be the most boring dance of all time, when the Prince looked up above the railing, and found Zayn’s hazel or purple or green eyes staring right back at him. It was five seconds in which neither moved, nor spoke, nor breathed. For a tiny moment it was the two of them completely alone again and nothing really mattered. But then someone caught the Prince’s attention and he gazed down, breaking the spell and sending Zayn right back to the start, his wounds reopening and burning through him.

 

Harry did not come out of his apartment after that for the entirety of the festival. Sulking had become his only routine. He bothered to go out again, but with no real purpose other than to get the people around him to leave him alone. He started bathing properly again although he didn’t even bother on flirting with the person doing the ministrations. He still didn’t eat any more than the occasional apathetic mouthful. His bones were starting to poke out and what had once been firm muscle was slowly disappearing.

He started taking lessons again and even concentrated in what was being taught but rather so it would end soon. Louis still visited and went riding with him, but the Prince ended up not saying anything at all and often Louis would end up reading on the divan while Harry lay in his bed staring at the ceiling and trying to remember what Zayn’s hair smelt like in the dream that kept recurring ever since and was cut off at the same point every time.

 

It was a Sunday morning, the power of winter in full force and not a soul could be perceived outside his windows. Surprisingly, he was up as early as eight in the morning and already waiting for breakfast to arrive sitting by his lonely fire. He had given up on taking meals on the table by the far end as he found it painful not to have the young servant’s company. But that was long gone and Harry had no business pining after a slave months after their fallout. 

A little boy came in the room without knocking carrying an excessive amount of food that Harry wouldn’t have been able to eat even if he had been extremely hungry. The boy bowed—something Harry personally found incredibly stupid—and left without a single word. Harry yelled back a thank you but the door was slammed shut, drowning his own voice with the noise and startling him. He wondered sourly if Liam had died and made a mental note to ask Niall about it.

He took the croissant in his hands and ate half of it, feeling like his throat would close up around it any minute. He took the fruit salad instead, telling himself that it was time for him to quit crying over spilt milk.  There were barely (if any) fruits available in the winter and so it was mostly just different types of berries and something that seemed foreign and dry.  It was truly the most horrid thing he had ever tasted, but Harry couldn't tell if it was real or just his sheer lack of appetite.  So he ate a little more bread and had a cup of tea.

He got up and straightened his robe, which had become too big for his naturally skinny complexion that was showing its ugly side as of late. He felt dizzy as he got up too quickly  and had to stabilise himself by holding on to the table's edge. A he tried to get the world back into focus, he found in fact that he couldn't. His hands were barely a foot away from his face and all he could see was a white blur. He looked up to find the room spinning in front of him.  The table slipped away from his hand like sand running free. Nothing was clear. Blotches of deep colour from the decorations contrasted with the pale of winter and merged into one same canvas in harsh, uneven strokes that closed up around him. 

He felt his legs give out below him and his heart start hammering inside as if asking for help. He tried screaming, but his throat was dry and what had probably been just a whisper hurt too much. There was no one around to help him. He fell but couldn't feel the floor underneath him, only the mild pain of his head hitting something hard. Then the violent strokes seemed to merge into one whole, consuming darkness.

 

Next thing he knew, he woke up somewhere that was definitely not his bed. No matter how shit his hangover was, at least he was sure of that. His eyes felt awfully heavy. …But he hadn’t been drinking. And he reasoned it wasn’t a hangover he was hosting as he paid more attention to what he was feeling. He had a mild headache, a dry throat, and felt worse than if he hadn’t slept in three days. He found that he couldn’t see properly either, everything reduced to a blurry, bright blob. He wondered for a second if he was dead. The headache reminded him he wasn’t.

The Prince panicked wondering if he had been abducted or something equally as awful. He had never felt so sick in his entire life and being too tired to move made him feel ten times worse. Since he couldn’t see, he didn’t notice the entourage around him. It was only when someone touched him that he realised there were voices speaking beside him. Clear voices whose words he could understand perfectly. It was his mother, in fact, the one who had touched him as she noticed he had finally woken up. As a matter of fact, he didn’t know how much time he had been unconscious. Apparently he said that out loud because the queen proceeded to explain to him that he had been asleep for a couple of days and that that poorly lit room with white, plain walls and low beds was in fact the castle’s infirmary.

He was also informed that his father was also sick and remained unconscious in the bed next to his, which he could not see. The family’s advisors suspected poisoning as did the doctors. Gemma and Edward surfaced from the background—though he could barely tell one from the other—and gave him some words of encouragement. They continued chatting lightly to him for about an hour in which his mind was entirely somewhere else. He cared little for how they would give the news to their subjects, or how they would take it, or what theories they had on the whole. He wanted to know who had done it as much as the next person, but the blurred vision and the occasional spins the room gave made it a low priority.

Truth be told, he was scared out of his mind. If he had been poisoned, did that mean he was dying? And if he hadn’t, then what did he have? It made it entirely worse that there was no one around to comfort him. Sure, his family was right there, but they were barely anything more than acquaintances. He wanted Louis and Niall there to hug him and tell him that he would be okay. Maybe Niall would give an entire lesson on whatever illness he had and how to cure it. And everything would be fine. Why wasn’t anyone telling him that he would be fine? How was his father doing? Why was he sick too? And the worst part was that nobody seemed to be talking about him on purpose. His mother was too preoccupied with how it would look to have the two strong males of the family currently unfit to rule. He couldn’t care less. 

Most of all he missed Zayn with such strength he physically ached. He was, if anything, the only thing distracting him from much darker, bleaker thoughts. He missed him more than he had ever, he thought. He had no health to get him through the day knowing he had fucked everything up. No amount of wealth or unfathomable area of land would make up for that loss. And no absent mother suddenly treating him like he wasn’t the spoiled brat she hated would heal his bleeding, bottomless heart.

Finally the talking ceased and even the doctors retrieved in order for him to rest, which he knew he really should be doing. He felt like he needed to sleep for ten years, but his mind and his heart kept him awake. Apparently those two had made a truce at some point and were now working together to punish him for letting Zayn go. Louis came and visited almost immediately after everyone left. He could tell because there were no longer any flesh-coloured blobs surrounding him. He was thoughtful enough to bring him some news on his father’s condition. It turned out he had woken up before Harry briefly and was simply resting like he should be. It made him feel better that at least he didn’t have the uncertainty of knowing what his final moment with his father would be.

Louis stayed by his bedside for hours, refusing to go and even threatening anyone who tried to kick him out. Harry specially appreciated that. He listened to the Duke talk quietly on and on about whatever and in return he listened to every secret worry Harry had in his mind. Louis always knew what and what not to say. He held his hand, wiped his tears, and made for the greatest person Harry could have ever been lucky enough to keep around.

 

“Zayn! Malik!” Louis stormed though the service ward’s doors, clueless as to where the damn boy could possibly be. He hadn’t been in such a place since he was about five. He remembered because the Prince’s mother scolded them harshly for fraternising with the staff. He strode through the corridor not knowing nor caring where he was headed as long as he got there. A few servants watched him from their doorframes, too afraid to say anything. He reached the stone stairs, rotten at the corners; it made him gag. A boy was making his way down and bumped into him without noticing. Louis’ eyes revealed how much he wanted to bury that kid alive who unconsciously shrunk under the scrutiny. “Zayn!” Louis repeated as if everyone around him spoke an entirely different language. “Where is he?” He yelled again. “I need to find him!”

The boy muttered something about the third floor and a room number and then Louis was on his way. There weren’t many people on the hall, thankfully and he was free to look for the room undisturbed. He didn’t bother knocking, instead rammed in, slamming the door against the dirty wall. Zayn was startled but in a second went back to the position he had been in. Louis found the servant lying down on the bed opposite the door. His body was turned to him and his head rested on the pillow. His cheeks were flushed dark—were they ever not? And his regularly beautiful eyes shone glassily from the evident tears still running freely down the sides of his face.

Apparently Zayn cared little for the Duke’s presence as he immediately sank back to his weeping without so much as giving an attempt at decent protocol. Louis raised his eyebrows in expectance but it wasn’t for another long moment that the servant reluctantly composed himself and finally addressed the nobleman. He looked out of place wearing his impeccable servant’s uniform while lolling on the stained sheets with his sobs for a propeller that kept him heaving lightly.

“He wants to see you.” Louis said sceptically. He didn’t have any real grudges against the poor boy but Harry was in a vulnerable state and he felt it was his duty to protect him. He had closed the door behind him to prevent the other members of the staff from overhearing anything. “I take it you heard what happened,” he stated, guessing Zayn wasn’t going to reply to the first statement.

“I didn’t do it,” said Zayn in a thick, throaty voice, sticking his chin up.

“I don’t think you would be this upset if you had,” put in Louis nonchalantly as he leant against the door. The tiny room was decently tidied, but the stone walls had been hoarding dirt for longer than either of them had been alive and there was barely a tiny, rectangular window by the right through which light could pass. It felt like a prison and made Louis feel uncomfortable and bad for Zayn at the same time. Oddly enough he didn’t feel bad for anyone else. He figured it was because, if he was being honest with himself, he had grown to like Zayn in the end.

The boy’s pupils contracted in confusion. “You believe me?” He asked in disbelief, sounding a little more disdainful than he had intended.

“Yes,” admitted the Duke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, the statements form everyone having breakfast at the dining hall that morning really helped also,” he put in. “You were a few people’s first suspect but they and your peers quickly cleared you of any guilt. Can’t say Harry’s family likes you any better now that you’re innocent though.” Zayn didn’t say anything and so he continued. “You know, anyone here would be flattered beyond themselves if the Prince asked to see them on his bedside.”

“I never asked for any of this, did I?” Said Zayn after a low sob.

“Honestly, Zayn!” Louis raised his voice exasperatedly. “You’re telling me that you don’t want to see him?” He yelled. “Look at you! Do you think I’m stupid? You’ve been crying over him since you found out, haven’t you?” Zayn shot his eyes down. “Jesus Christ, it’s not that bloody hard. You just have to sit there and pour him water and stuff. He might not even be conscious while you’re there.”

“But why me?” Muttered the Servant.

“Why do you think, Zayn?” Louis shot sarcastically. “He’s been pining over you for months. Months.” He reiterated. “No other person has ever had this effect on him.”

Zayn felt his eyes watering again and felt incredibly silly with the Duke standing there. “At least you care to notice that I am a person too,” he said ruefully.

Louis could be many things but discriminative wasn’t one of them and he sensed where this was coming from. He decided to put his guard down and go sit next to the servant on the battered mattress. “Look, I was just supposed to give you the message for Harry. And I understand that he’s done some very stupid things that weren’t necessarily fair to you, but he’s by no means a bad person. And I’d rather tell him you refused if you’re just going to hold those mistakes against him in his moment of weakness. I don’t mean to intrude any further but do you feel anything at all for him apart from pity and loathing?” Zayn remained silent for a few seconds as he seemed to confront things inside his brain. “Zayn, do you love him?”

Louis met Zayn’s eyes. They seemed not any less sorrowful than he had seen them last when he saved him from the very inebriated Harry so many nights ago. “I shouldn’t.” He spoke quietly. “I really, really shouldn’t.” There was a pause. “But yes; at least I think I do.”

Louis didn’t say anything else on the subject and simply instructed Zayn to fix the mess his hair and clothes had become and that there would be two guards waiting for him downstairs. He was confident Zayn would not stand the Prince up as he left to take care of some private matters. He couldn’t help but feel he had done a good thing and that made him warm inside even in the cold dusk on the service corridors.

 

Zayn was searched and then escorted to a wing of the castle he had never been to before. He was absolutely lost within five minutes of walking and gave up entirely on trying to remember how to get back to his room. He felt increasingly nervous as he finally approached the heavy oak doors behind which Harry supposedly was. The guards had no sympathy for him as they pushed him inside without any preambles and closed the doors behind him. Inside, he found he was completely alone in a large, dimly lit room with two modest beds separated by heavy curtains. He could see the king sleeping in the first one and tiptoed to the next careful not to wake him up by any chance.

On the second lay a very weak Prince who he wasn’t sure was even awake. He stood there awkwardly, struck by the dreary image he was met with. In front of him was a Prince he never thought could exist. The thin blankets covered most of what looked more like a set of old bones than an actual person. There was nothing left where defined muscle had been. Zayn suspected it wasn’t because of the poison. His arms and chest were hidden behind a simple, white nightshirt from which his snowy hands stuck out lifelessly. His bone structure protruded dramatically under his paper thin skin. His face remained as soft and pale as ever, but was marred with heavy mulberry rings around his eyes. Even his curls had lost vividness. 

There was a chair next to the bed in which Zayn found himself sitting without permission. He dragged it close to the edge so he could be at touching distance from the Prince without acknowledging it. The sickly glow of the candles reflected on the Prince’s marble skin in an endless, uneven flicker. Slowly, his eyelids drew open and his tired, green irises synced with Zayn’s. “You asked to see me?” Said Zayn with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Harry looked lost for a little bit before he spoke; his words came out jagged and breathy. “I didn’t think you would come.” His stare didn’t falter and Zayn wondered if it was just that Harry had a hard time focusing his eyes on anything else.

“How are you feeling?” He figured the previous sentence hadn’t been a question. He didn’t really want to know the answer.

“I’m dying,” Harry declared with a sour little smile on his face.

“You’re not.” Zayn giggled. “The doctors said you should be fine.”

“My headache begs to differ.” He turned so that the light from one of the candles wasn’t blinding him.

He smiled and then looked downwards, breaking the spell they appeared to have fallen seamlessly into. “Can I get you anything, my Prince?” He blushed.

“Zayn…” Harry started, sounding disappointed. “…Please.”

It broke Zayn’s heart how tired the Prince appeared to be. “Yes?”

“Please don’t start with the formalities.” His eyes looked pleading and refused stubbornly to unglue from the servant.

“Okay,” replied Zayn softly.

“I know this probably means nothing but I appreciate you coming.” Harry shifted so his head was a little more to the right. He looked very uncomfortable. “I wanted to see you at least one last time.”

“You are not dying,” replied Zayn immediately, making his earnest show.

“Oh, but I am,” sang Harry.

“Don’t say that!” Zayn said loudly only to scold himself and turned down his voice immediately. “You are not dying on me. I don’t want you to die.” He looked down feeling the colour creep up his cheeks.

“You don’t?” Harry was caught off guard and too tired not to say what he wanted to. The fear also helped. “I thought you might,” he muttered. “I would understand if you did.”

“What?” screeched Zayn. “No, no, no. God, no. Don’t ever think that.” He moved closer to the bed. “I don’t want you to die.” And then, reducing the volume of his voice to a mere whisper like a child confiding on their very best friend, “Please don’t die.”

Harry sighed heavily despite the warmth that spread deep inside him. He wanted to grin and say something cheeky that would have the servant blushing and squirming on his seat. Instead, he settled for a modest smile that he hoped concealed all the mixed emotions that were flowing carelessly through his system ever since he woke up and kept him permanently restless. He wanted to touch Zayn. Just hold his hand to make sure that the velvety texture that was branded on his fingertips wasn’t an illusion. He sensed his long fingers had been made to curl between Zayn’s delicate knuckles. He settled for just observing Zayn from his pillow, trying to memorise every tiny fraction of him just in case he didn’t get to see him again. He wasn’t planning on saying anything else but before he could realise, words were coming out of his mouth without his permission. “Will you stay for a while? I just… don’t want to be alone right now.”

Harry’s index finger ghosted over the side of Zayn’s hand, making him shiver. Initially he had thought just one touch would be enough, but then it was over and it had only left him wanting more. As he tentatively closed his against the servant’s hand, Zayn’s first instinct was to pull away and apologise frantically until he reached the confines of his bedroom. He didn’t, and as he avoided the Prince’s gaze, he retrieved his hand to lace their fingers properly. “Yeah” he breathed. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Zayn stayed until well entered the morning through the bars of the narrow windows above the Prince’s bed. Harry fell asleep soon after they laced fingers, his eyelids proved too heavy to maintain them open any more despite how badly he wanted to glue his irises to Zayn’s sad expression. It was conflicting. He couldn’t locate the faintest trace of anger in his tired face, just sheer, melancholic sorrow shadowing his beautiful features. He finally gave in to exhaustion not without a fight; the last image passing through his eyes had been the reciprocating stare of Zayn piercing through his soul without shame.

All the while Zayn never stopped paying full attention to his Prince. From the moment his eyes closed and he felt his breathing slowly start to even out—finally—and he gripped his hand tightly in case that for some miraculous reason it would help keep him on earth another day. He couldn’t tell if Harry was asleep or passed out. Either way, he seemed more at peace than when he was conscious and in visible struggle just to keep his eyes open and his mouth closed. He didn’t let go of the Prince’s hand in the hours he spent by his side; there was no one who could see him anyway. He occasionally stroked the back of his hand with his thumb methodically, as if just checking there was still real flesh (or bones) under his fingertips.

When he finally left, grudgingly, it was because he could not be excused from his shift. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t shut an eye in the whole evening; he wouldn’t have slept even if he hadn’t been visiting Harry. In a way that was more tranquilising than anything else. Yet in another it felt like the situation moved further and further from being as black and white as he had portrayed it to be and he surreptitiously questioned himself if there was a point at all in resenting Harry for what he had done. His brain though, would simply just not let him move on and forget his issues. Because Harry had indeed left some damage in him and because he had something to prove. As to what that was he wasn’t very sure.

He didn’t come back again since that night. The Prince didn’t call for him either. Neither of them talked about whatever that evening had meant to anyone, not that there were a lot of people to listen. Louis insisted the first couple of days but soon gave up sensing he shouldn’t be upsetting Harry as delicate as his current state was. He was slowly getting better though, much slower than his father but better nonetheless. The illness had probably hit him so hard due to the months he had spent indirectly killing himself.

 

Harry’s eyesight was fully recovered eventually. He rejoiced on this as it promised that the rest should indeed be just fine. He got to appreciate his surroundings in true details and quickly decided that he absolutely hated that hellhole. He was bored out of his mind with nothing to do and less and less people visiting him now that he was not critical. Yet again he had fallen into the outcast category. Louis still visited every day his regular two or even three hours, but that still left him with the rest of the day to stare at the ceiling and at his dad, who spent most of his time eating and sleeping now that he didn’t have responsibilities due to doctor’s orders.

He kept still for hours just staring at the ceiling, feeling the flicker of the candles comfortably warm his paper skin. It was in one of those moments that everything happened. Harry lay motionless on his bed, the veil between him and his father’s bed drawn open by a maid that insisted that light would do them some good. Neither of them cared. Suddenly a woman with her chin held high walked in. He didn’t bother noticing who it was until the following happened. She covered her head with a grey shawl as she approached the table between the beds. She looked like an old maid, wearing a simple beige dress that hadn’t been the uniform in years.

As the woman walked, she took a small bottle out of her pocket and held it in her hand. She leant in, making the shawl fall over her face, oblivious to the Prince, who watched her silently without much interest. Her hands trembled as she took the bottle of medicine placed on the table, took a short look at it and switched it with the one in her hand. He noticed both bottles were almost full as he paid more attention to what the woman was doing. She stood up straight suddenly, the cloth slipping from her shoulders and revealing her face. Harry exchanged a glance with his now very awake father and back to her.

 

It turns out the queen had been planning a way of manipulating the hierarchy of the throne for a long time. She claimed she did it for the good of her kingdom. She wanted a strong hand to bring more for England; something the current king could not do. She said he was too weak, too poor in character despite what their subjects believed. She thought the true head behind the reign’s mechanisms was her.

She explained all this after the guards had carried her to a dungeon in the catacombs, a place Harry had only ever head of until he saw himself (and his father) standing up for the first time in days with suddenly renewed strength fuelled by deception and wrath. He found himself for once taking charge along with the King like he had always been intended to. They quickly put the puzzle pieces together, deciding to keep most to themselves alone. She had sent a slave boy that had no idea what he was even delivering to bring the both of them hidden deadly nightshade berries, causing them to fall ill. When they didn’t die as planned and found they would soon regain full health, she decided to step it up and finish the job with cyanide that was hidden in the medicine jar she was switching when both of them discovered her. She had expected them to be asleep during that time.

Her great mistake had been wearing the maid uniform that although the guards wouldn’t have notice anything strange in another anonymous servant, her family wouldn’t have sensed anything was wrong if she had visited in regular clothes and would have just assumed she was doing something routine-like, like maybe actually caring for them. They listened to her confession in the humid depths of the castle. Their faces remained stern as ounce by ounce they lost their sympathy for the dreadful woman. She continued to profess how the real strong hand was Edward and that she never wanted the throne for herself. She believed it was a man’s duty despite her involvement. All along she planned to give the crown to him, knowing that her husband wouldn’t abdicate for it, she realised something had to be done. 

Confiding in her personal adviser, they planned a way to carry out her wishes. They would get rid of the King so the decision relied solely on her, after which she would step down and give the power to Edward. Only then did she finally word the unspoken despise she felt towards Harry. He felt better at finally hearing her admit it and entirely worse altogether. Ed never knew a thing about his mother’s plans, something that greatly relieved the King. While they listened to the Queen’s delusions, Harry sent for the counsellor. His punishment would be kept in private; the Prince hadn’t decided what he would do yet. Fearful, she prayed and cursed for mercy, but to deaf ears.

 

That day rained like never before in Harry’s short life. His mother was dead and he felt nothing. The only thing he regretted was letting her die without making her see the promise in him. He felt more of a disappointment to her than ever, though she was dead and had betrayed him in the worst way possible. This was one of those times when nothing would suffice. No amount of treasures would fill the emptiness. The fur cape he was wearing felt like nothing more than a weight holding him down. The gold chain marked the line that separated him from the rest.

Zayn didn’t know how he had ended up at the top of that tower once again. Regardless and driven by something he couldn’t quite name, he knocked like it was the most natural thing to do and waited. He thought he heard someone call him in but couldn’t be sure. He opened the door nevertheless. Inside the Prince was facing the window, his back turned to Zayn. When he turned around, it was like something clicked inside the servant’s head. Harry looked simply magnificent, breathtaking and noble in the way he moved and the clothes he wore, much more formal than what he usually dressed in. His face had never been so sad.

More than ever Zayn felt the gap between servant and Prince. Yet emotionally it was the first time Harry had ever shown fully what he was truly feeling. The tension on his factions was unbearable. “Well?” Demanded the Prince and his voice was deep and melodic, not jagged like he thought it would be.

“I just—” He started. “I’m really sorry about your mother.” Zayn entered the room properly.

“About which part?” Asked the Prince as he gave his back to Zayn again and walked into his study. “About her trying to kill me or about her dying?” He sat on his leather chair, not caring that there was barely any light inside, and drew his knees towards his chest under the heavy coat.

Zayn gave this some consideration as he followed the Prince and lit up the candles. “Both.”

Harry looked up at Zayn and wanted him like never before. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I called for you the other day.”

“Why are you sorry?” Asked Zayn confused.

The Prince shifted. “I understand it must have been awful for you to have to come and touch me and everything.” He rolled his eyes.

“Will you stop that already?” Zayn snapped.

“Excuse me?” Frowned the Prince.

“Stop it!” Zayn yelled again and the Prince found himself at a loss for words. “That thing! You’re doing it again. Stop being condescending! It’s like you’re trying to push me away. Why do you do that? You become this cruel and cynical person I almost don’t recognise and I hate it! I absolutely hate it!” Zayn went bright red but seemed as determined as before if not more.

“I do not,” mumbled Harry wide-eyed and indignant.

“Yes, you do!” Zayn whined in frustration. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you lying there? I thought you might die! You selfish prick!”

“Do not,” the Prince stood up, “ever talk to me like that! I may not be my mother’s first choice but I am still the heir to this kingdom and I will not be talked to like that by a—”

Zayn’s heart and face fell in sync. “A slave?” He guessed, lowering his voice to a melodic murmur.

“Zayn—” The Prince’s voice broke. “—I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, it’s not, I just—” He struggled to form a sentence, the words losing meaning as he watched the servant’s eyes start to water.

“Yes, you did.” Zayn’s voice was low but strong. “I’m not a person to you, I’m your property. I don’t think I was ever worth more than that ring you have on your finger right now.” He frowned. “I shouldn’t have come here in the first place, I realise that now.” He turned around, craning his neck to say one last meaningless sentence. “I apologise, Sir.”

His hand was already on the door-handle when Harry snapped out of his trance and rushed to grab the servant by his arm maybe a little more forcefully than he had intended. Zayn winced but was too tired to fight his arm free. “Don’t do this again.” He pleaded and it was hard to pretend that the proximity to Zayn’s body wasn’t affecting his ability to think straight. He thought he hadn’t been thinking straight for months now and so it didn’t really matter. “Don’t treat me like a stranger. Don’t push me away. And please, please don’t run away from me.”

The grip his Highness had on Zayn’s thin arm was starting to get too painful. He didn’t want the Prince to see the effect he still had on the poor servant. Regardless, he was determined to face him. “You’re the one who’s gone through a lot of trouble to push me away.” And Zayn didn’t look pitiful for once. He didn’t know what had caused this sudden strength, maybe he just didn’t care any more.

“I have n—” Started the Prince but Zayn’s eyes said it all. He could see the boy knew he was lying just as much as he did. “I’m sorry.”

“Yet you keep doing it.” Zayn’s hazel eyes stared right into Harry’s, burning him from the inside out.

“What do you want me to say, Zayn? I already apologised,” retorted the Prince.

“That’s the problem. You don’t say anything. We never talk about anything. Every time I get a little close to you, you punish me for it one way or another.” Zayn’s eyes glistened with tears as his breathing became heavier. “You used to be the nicest person I had ever met and then…”

Harry sighed heavily and let go of Zayn’s arm. He took a step back and stared down at him with no real purpose. “I’m sorry. You can go if you want; I won’t keep you here.” Zayn’s tears started to roll down. He wondered if they would ever stop. “…but I would appreciate it if you heard me out. I know I’ve not been good to you lately. I know I’m cruel for no reason. And that I’ve pushed you too far too many times, I know that. I am truly sorry about everything I’ve done to you.” He stood there, carefully putting each phrase together before saying it aloud. His lips craved Zayn’s taste. “I’m sorry I almost raped you.” His voice finally broke. “I’m so sorry.” He pleaded as he too started to cry.

“Sir, I—” Started Zayn but let it die midsentence. He stepped closer to the Prince hesitant.

“I lied. I do remember. It’s a bit hazy but I remember doing it. And you were going to let me. Why would you do that? You’re worth so much more than you realise. You’re so great and I’ve not been fair to you at all.” His hand twitched wanting to touch Zayn but refrained himself. “Even if you hate me you have to know that you are so much better than you think.” A pause. “I should have never blamed this on you. I was the one who ruined it. I was the one who was wrong. I did all of those things because I was scared and I ended up fucking it anyway. I don’t know how you’ll be able to forgive me. Please forgive me.”

“What were you scared of?” Whispered Zayn, frowning. The sun was starting to set already, which only made the room fall into further darkness.

“Of losing you?” Retorted the Prince immediately. His voice reduced to a mere whisper. “Of you becoming more than just a fling… Of—of—” His hands finally reached out to gently take Zayn by the waist, trapping him in his arms. His red, swollen eyelids fluttered a second and then drifted down looking at Zayn’s cherry-red lips. His arms tightened around the boy protectively. Zayn's heart was about to beat out of his ribcage but he somehow held it together and placed his hands on the Prince's chest. Harry took this as his cue to lean in, keeping eye contact for encouragement, and softly merged his lips with Zayn's.

Harry pulled away when he felt Zayn frozen against his eager mouth. "Say it," whispered the servant as he avoided Harry's gaze.

"I've missed you so badly; you have no idea. Just seeing you stand there made my head spin.” Zayn's eyes urged him to blurt the words out but he was petrified. "I like how you've grown your hair a little bit longer." He joked but Zayn didn't laugh. "I've had countless dreams about you. ...And I've wanted you for so long..." One of his hands moved up to hold up Zayn's chin.

"Please, Harry, I need to hear it. ...I don't think I can do this if you don't say it aloud." Zayn searched for that spark inside the Prince's eyes. His hands were still clutching the fur almost desperately.

Harry took nearly too long to answer back. "I was afraid of falling in love with you—of loving you." His thumb ghosted along the line of Zayn’s jaw, following it with his eyes. Zayn’s hands fell to the side and Harry let go.

“Do you?” Zayn looked up, so hopeful it hurt.

And then it was like everything was worth it. All the pain had been just build-up for that very moment. He felt silly to be so excited and expectant to something so simple. But then Harry was taking his left hand in his, it was soft and warm, so perfect for his icy skin. This wasn’t the Prince that was standing there, touching him. He felt the familiar pressure of the other hand on his back, gently pulling him closer until their faces were inches apart. Their tears were starting to dry. “I do.” Their noses rubbed together accidentally when Harry leaned into Zayn’s face. “I love you,” he whispered against Zayn’s lips before kissing him like he had wanted to for so long.

 

Everything smelled like Harry. It came from the sheets; the thin, warm air surrounding him; the wheezing body whose heartbeat acted as the alarm that woke Zayn up in the first place. He sat up startled and crouched away from him, removing his hand from the bony shoulder he had been clutching. “Your Majesty, I am so sorry, I don’t know—what? I—” He babbled. He noticed it was completely dark outside, that he was in the Prince’s bed, and that the Prince looked beautiful under the soft candle light that allowed Zayn to see his smooth face stained with rosy cheeks and heavy, raw red eyes. He seemed confused as he frowned innocently at the frantic boy in his bed. His hand was inadvertently rubbing the spot where Zayn’s had been. “Wasn’t dreaming?” He frowned, remembering in a flash the events of the past twenty-four hours.

“You were having some kind of nightmare.” Rasped Harry. “But I’m guessing you’re referring to the fact that I told you I love you this afternoon. No, you did not dream that.” Harry tried to smile but it was forced. Zayn caught him off guard. It was hard to remember he didn’t have to put up a façade in front of him any more. Zayn smiled too, genuinely—the way Harry wanted to—, glowing with the fresh stray tears on his cheekbones. His hand came up to touch them, surprised yet not that they were there. “Did you know you cry on your sleep?” Zayn noticed he was still in the corner of the bed and that Harry noticed too. He darted his eyes down guiltily in confirmation. “How often?”

“…Most days.” Harry sighed. “You’ve been crying too.” He said pointing towards Harry’s eyes. Harry seemed to remember that indeed his eyes were uncomfortably swollen. Zayn clumsily moved back next to Harry, who lay on his back and had been craning his neck uncomfortably. He lay down as well, and turned so that he could face the sleepy Prince. “Why?” He said curiously.

“Sometimes you make me sad,” retorted the Prince wiping methodically both of Zayn’s hollow cheeks. He thought absently that this was the closest they had ever been without doing anything sexual. “You’ve got too skinny; it worries me. We should start taking meals together again so you can eat better.” Harry’s words slurred together making it almost impossible to understand if Zayn wasn’t so familiar with his drawl.

“I’d like that,” acknowledged the servant. “Sorry I make you sad.” He winced. The Prince kept his hand on Zayn’s cheek, taking comfort on the contact and the allowance.

“Stop apologising!” He whispered and the tone was barely higher but he got the desired effect nonetheless. “It’s not your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong. I thought I’d cleared things out last night.”

“You did,” retorted Zayn.

“No, love, I don’t think I did. It was me who made all the mistakes. I’m sorry I blamed anything on you, Zayn,” he sniffled, “I shouldn’t have accused you of sleeping around. I know you have morals and that it was hypocritical of me. And I should have never brought anyone else here. I knew it would hurt you.” Harry had no energy to be actually upset. “I should have just told you how I felt. And I should have never tried to convince myself that it was acceptable for me to abuse you. It didn’t change how I felt; it only made things worse.”

“I also should have never treated you like everyone else treats slaves, specially because I know how much you’re worth. I know you’re as much of a person as anyone else. Diminishing you was never the way to get you to stay with me. I know you know I said those things out of spite with myself and I should have never taken it out on you.” Harry felt relief with every word that came out of his mouth because he knew it was the truth, even if Zayn maybe didn’t want to hear it. 

“When you were gone I was miserable.” He continued. “Absolutely miserable, you have no idea. I was such a wreck. I guess I still am kind of a mess but at least I’m trying to make it right. I couldn’t have you any more or even see you but I loved you so much and it ached all over. And a part of me told me you never even wanted me and that I was a complete idiot. But the other part told me maybe you did love me, at least at some point you did, and the fact that I most likely ruined that tore me apart. So you see, I have no idea which side was right but I’m still a little terrified that I might have destroyed all my chances with you, and the truth is I want you so blindly it’s killing me. I just want you back with me. I need you.”

And that’s how Zayn had found himself at god-knows-what-hour lying on the most expensive of beds, witnessing the Prince of England pour his heart out for him and only him. But there weren’t really any traces of the Prince in the man in front of him (except maybe for the clothes). This was Harry, the vulnerable, frightened boy that had doubts and insecurities and was just another person that only Zayn got to see. It made him a little giddy.

“I’m here.” Harry seemed to let out a breath after holding it for too long. “And I want to be here.” Zayn reassured him. “I recognise how hard it must be for you to admit all of the things you just said. And I feel like this is the moment for me to speak too.” He paused. “I know you can imagine how hard it was for me when you acted—the way you did. But believe me that leaving you was worse than anything else. I wanted to hate you, and I did. Because you broke all your promises and you made me not care that you were hurting me for virtually no reason. And there is never a valid excuse to blame the victim. I was terrified of you.” He sighed.

“But Harry, you are just another person that is just as scared as I am. I don’t know how or why I ended up with the conclusion that I’m glad Louis stopped you when he did and that you were clearly out of your right mind because if not, I swear I would have never been able to forgive you. You have to understand that I forgive you because I know you’re a good person that made a mistake. And because I know you’ve very well realised that and I trust you not to ever do something like that to me again. I’m in no way excusing your behaviour. I just know that that’s not who you are. So after coming to terms with myself and my feelings, and believe me, it wasn’t easy, I understood that I had no blame in what happened.” Harry was now paying full attention to the Servant’s words. Zayn rarely acted so honest and objective—you could almost say brave—, and it was kind of refreshing for Harry to see that side of him.

“You shouldn’t have lied about remembering it, it hurt me too bad. And I don’t know how stupid you had to be to think that it was okay for you to call me a slave and expect me to love you because a paper says you own me. Particularly because we both know you don’t believe that for a second, and the fact that you tried anyways infuriated me beyond belief. I hate that you ever treated me as property. Right now I can’t say I forgive you for that, you’ll have to understand me. But I don’t hold that as a grudge against you.”

“Now that I’ve told you, please know that I do have feelings for you. You were the one good thing in my life and I lost you. But it never stopped. In all that time I didn’t see you I never stopped longing for you. I think I should have made you see that I had feelings for you before all of this happened. I should have communicated with you and I should have maybe just stayed there with you like you wanted me to. When I heard you were ill, I was so afraid you would die and I’d never get a chance just to see you again. Then I saw you in that bed and you were so fragile and so scared and I wanted to fix you more than anything in this world. You looked awful, so skinny and pale and cold. I was convinced you were going to die and I was going to lose you forever. And you would never know how I feel about you.” Zayn kept on explaining softly to the careful ears of Harry, who wasn’t touching Zayn anymore and wouldn’t dare interrupt him.

“I wanted to hear you laugh and kiss you. And it didn’t matter for a second how much pain you put me through because you were dying and I had no more time left. But I knew you wouldn’t die because Louis said you wouldn’t die and so I chose not to do anything. That was cowardly. But I held your hand because you were afraid, and I stayed until the morning though you slept through the entire night. I want to thank you for explaining and for apologising because I too have missed you like hell and want you back just as badly. And I want you to be always as honest with me as you’re being right now no matter what. Because I’ve let you in again and I trust you and you love me. It feels so amazing I can hardly believe it. I’ll take you back because the fact that you love me changes everything and I want this to be something too. I want so badly to tell you how I feel and for you have that certainty. I’m having trouble getting the words out but I promise you my feelings for you have never changed.” He smiled. “And now that you know, I think we should stop crying already. There’s really no point for tears now.” Harry threw himself in Zayn’s arms, weeping quietly still, and kissed him slowly between sobs. “Harry?” Uttered Zayn sensing the Prince was still bothered by something.

“Are the nightmares about me?” Zayn raised his eyebrows knowingly. “Please I just want to know if those are my fault too.” He said miserably.

“Some of them.” Harry winced. “But no, they were there before, they just increased in number lately. Most of them involve my family.” He confessed. Harry seemed more relieved after that statement but sulky still. “You’re still sad though?” He asked, playing softly with Harry’s curls.

They shifted so Harry was on his back and Zayn was resting his head on his chest. “My mother’s dead,” he declared staring at the ceiling, “And she hated me. I just don’t know what to do now.” His hands embraced Zayn’s body tightly over the jacket.

“I think—you’re a good person and she couldn’t see that. And you should let it go. Let her go.” He pecked Harry’s warm cheek. “There’s no point in resenting the dead. But I’m sorry your mum’s gone.”

“Mother,” corrected the Prince. Zayn frowned. “Not mum. Mary was my mum and she’s been missing for almost a year now. Giving birth was the only thing my mother ever did for me,” he explained.

“Give it time,” suggested Zayn.

They lay there in silence for a while although neither of them was really asleep. “Are you not uncomfortable in that uniform?” Asked Harry running a finger over the cheap fabric of Zayn’s sleeve.

“Mmm? Yes.” Zayn hummed. “I don’t even remember getting into bed. I’m even wearing my shoes still.” He frowned.

“That’s because you fell asleep at my study,” Harry smiled fondly. “You should get more comfortable.” He yawned, and got under the blankets. “I’d appreciate it if you kept me company for what’s left of tonight.”

Zayn tilted his head ad grinned. “Wasn’t planning on leaving.” Harry grinned too, honest and grateful. Zayn took off most of his clothes so he could be on just underpants and shirt, and quickly discarded them to go join Harry at the centre of the bed. They rapidly settled into a comfortable position. Zayn’s head rested over the Prince’s heart, one hand on his chest and the other holding his waist. Harry encircled Zayn in his arms as though he might slip away, their legs tangling until, as impossibly close as they were, finally they fell asleep.

 

“Hey,” the Prince announced himself as he closed the door, flashing a cheerful smile at seeing Zayn there. It was noon and Zayn had already arrived with their lunch a few minutes ago. He had been waiting for the Prince to come back from his meeting, patiently reading something and enjoying the tap-tap of the falling rain when Harry finally came back and woke him from his thoughts.

About a month had passed since the Prince’s mother passed away. He was holding up much better now, though, finding it easier to move on when he found himself not missing her. She never had been there after all. Secretly he knew it was thanks to the company Zayn provided him with as well. Zayn had gotten his servant title back immediately. He almost never left Harry’s side now except for when he was actually working and the Prince had to attend an important event. They ate all meals together unless Harry had plans or was with Louis and Niall, who had resumed their daily lessons. Slowly they settled back into their routine of eating by the window and although the Prince denied it, they both were starting to put on some much needed weight.

Their conversations actually involved the two of them now, permitting to talk about things they never had before. Harry started to trust Zayn the way the servant trusted him, a new way of intimacy neither of them had ever fathomed possible but didn’t hesitate to fall into. Zayn’s wounds too finally started to heal. It was like Harry’s comfort was everything he needed. They needed each other more than ever, but not in the unhealthy way they did before. Zayn felt loved and so did Harry, even if the servant never truly worded it.

Zayn spent most nights in Harry’s bedroom although they had unspokenly restricted their sexual activity to not much more than kissing. Harry still treated Zayn like he might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful. He wouldn’t dare to even suggest sex in fear that he would scare off the boy. Zayn himself didn’t allow any clues as to what he wanted, and so the Prince preferred to wait. All they did at night was talk about nothing and kiss too much. It was a lot like when they first started seeing each other, albeit significantly more comfortable and this time Zayn would always stay the night. Harry told Zayn he loved him at any given chance, usually expecting nothing in return, so much that him and Louis actually started referring to the servant as the lover, making Zayn blush furiously every time.

“What were you thinking about?” Asked the Prince as he unbuttoned his coat and approached the table full of food with hungry eyes. Zayn just stared at him like couldn’t make up his mind. Suddenly he pounced upon the Prince and kissed him like his life depended on it. Harry was startled for a moment but soon kissed him back, trying to slow him down. He seemed to melt into the inebriating taste that welled from Zayn’s lips as Zayn played with Harry’s curls with one hand and the other stroked lines down his back. A high-pitched whine-like sound escaped Harry’s mouth of its own violation. His hands inevitably took their designated positions at either side of Zayn’s waist. Soon his coat was being pulled off of him somehow but he could barely register with Zayn’s tongue inside his mouth. Then the boy’s hands were roaming his bare chest and he could breathe again. Zayn’s lips left his, unfinished, and moved to his neck, down his abdomen, and back up again.

Abruptly—and painfully—Harry detached himself from a very eager Zayn who was looking at him with big, puzzled eyes. His heart was racing in his chest and he had trouble matching words inside his head. “We don’t have to do this,” he said and his words came out between pants. “…If you don’t want to.”

Zayn looked frustrated but earnest. “I do. I want it.” Harry kissed him shortly. “Please.” Zayn’s hands were back on the other’s body. “Let’s just… put everything past us. It’s been so long,” he almost purred into Harry’s ear and he could have died because Zayn was trying to seduce him for god’s sake. And it was working. “Too long.”

Harry let himself get closer to Zayn with the certainty that the boy wanted him to. He took his head delicately in one of his hands and nibbled lightly on the soft skin under Zayn’s jaw. His hands moved frantically to try and take off all the layers Zayn had on. Meanwhile Zayn held on to his shoulders to try and steady himself, his heart quickly started to race and his mouth craved the familiar taste of the Prince. He slowly guided the servant blindly out of memory of the walk they had performed so many times before. Somehow it still felt new and exciting when the Prince lay him down, completely naked. It was real, he was going to do this again and although he felt like things maybe would be okay, he couldn’t help but be stupidly nervous.

The Prince climbed on top of him through the veil as he watched wordlessly—mouth half open because wow, Harry looked seriously good and had he been secretly expecting this?—while a familiar face was at level with him and a clothed leg positioned in between his, lying down on him and kissing hungrily. Meanwhile, his left hand roamed its way south until he was stroking Zayn’s inner thigh, grinning against his mouth, as he felt the approving twitch of Zayn’s dick. He really couldn’t help it as his fingers closed in around the shaft tentatively. He broke away for a second. “Is this okay?” And he knew Zayn would probably scoff at his insistence, but he just needed to be sure that Zayn would be okay all the while.

Surprisingly enough, Zayn looked only grateful that the Prince was keeping his promise, a glint of doubt flashing in his eyes briefly but disappearing as soon as it had come. He went red and smiled shyly. “Yeah,” he breathed and Harry squeezed. A thunder struck outside and Zayn’s heart started pounding inside his chest. The bright sunlight that had been enveloping them reduced to shadows as it started to rain heavily against Harry’s windows. Harry pumped Zayn’s dick a few times, loving every little gasp Zayn made for him. Harry stared amazed at how beautiful and vulnerable Zayn looked underneath him, his mouth slightly open, widening a little when Harry’s hand brushed the tip of his cock, eyes wide and bright. He thought idly that maybe this was Zayn’s way of loving him. Maybe that was all he deserved.

He sucked a bruise on the crook of the boy’s neck, feeling the skin get Goosebumps under his touch. He moved lower, his tongue occasionally licking a strip of skin and needing more of those loud breaths Zayn was letting out. His hand left Zayn’s cock momentarily and he whined, not really meaning to. Then the servant felt Harry’s hot mouth kissing his tip and he could have died. Harry swallowed more of him, sucking lightly and Zayn squirmed involuntarily and pulled on Harry’s hair, feeling the Prince smile around him. Harry worked him with his mouth until Zayn was all loose limbs and soft little moans that meant everything to him.

Suddenly the Prince stopped and got off the bed, and what else could Zayn do but whine. In normal circumstances he would have been embarrassed that he was acting like such a whore but it had been—so—long. Then Harry was coming back with the familiar bottle in his hand. Harry gave him a kiss and Zayn wondered if the man wasn’t uncomfortable in his trousers. The Prince sat on his heels in between Zayn’s legs. The only sound in the room was their breathing and the hard tapping of water all around them. Zayn had to close his eyes as he felt the Prince push one wet finger inside him. He didn’t feel good. Apart from just how blindingly hard he was and how he was with the Prince again, he just didn’t feel—okay.

“Zayn?” A low whisper called out and he frowned at how tender it sounded. “Are you alright?” Harry’s voice was filled with concerned and it made things feel funny in his belly. And seriously, they’d done this a million times, what was the problem now? Why couldn’t he just do this?

Harry’s only answer was Zayn much reluctantly opening his eyes. Harry stopped touching Zayn altogether, which somehow was not really comforting.

“We don’t have to do anything.” The Prince kissed Zayn’s knuckles and it would have been really cute and Zayn would be blushing and beaming if his heart didn’t happen to be working too much. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things for me.”

Zayn dared speak now. “I do, I do.” Zayn’s eyes were frantic to make contact with Harry’s. “I thought I was ready but I’m just so nervous and—” Zayn had trouble finding the right word.

“Scared?” Another thunder struck just outside their room and Zayn flinched. Harry, though, was giving him some space and facing him, eyes never leaving the other’s.

Zayn blushed. “No, not—not of you, but just—I don’t know.” He huffed, flustered. “This is ridiculous.”

“Zayn,” Harry called to get his attention, “It’s okay.” He kissed the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s try again, yeah?” Then his chin. “Trust me?” It wasn’t really a question and so Zayn didn’t answer and instead let himself be carried.

Harry got Zayn under the layers of white, fluffy wool and comfortable sheets before moving away to close the veils and undress completely. He brought the familiar bottle of lotion back with him and Zayn felt the thrill roll up his spine. Harry was so hard he was probably aching and Zayn actually felt bad momentarily, but then Harry’s legs were wrapped with his own and he was being kissed and it didn’t matter that the thunders outside were terrifying because Harry was fucking everywhere. “Touch me,” Zayn felt Harry pant against his chin. Harry had to refrain himself not to grin like an idiot because Zayn’s hand immediately reached down and he could feel his calloused hands shaking and maybe it shouldn’t have seemed so adorable. But Zayn remembered everything Harry had taught him and he was good, so, so good.

Harry moved away before Zayn made him come ahead of time, rolling Zayn slightly on his left so that he was half-underneath the boy. One of his hands reached down to squeeze at the base of Zayn’s shaft. “You ready?” Zayn nodded, craning his neck so he could look Harry in the eye. Harry was spreading a bit of lotion on his hand and running it down Zayn’s crack until he slid it inside in one single movement. His other hand was circling Zayn’s waist, who took it in his own instinctively as he accustomed to the intrusion. It felt strangely like their first time. Harry felt like he could live off of Zayn’s tiny, lovely reactions. And although he wasn’t about to give up on his naughtier preferences, this moment just felt right.

Harry moved his fingers while they kissed in probably the most awkward angle ever, and Harry was simply teasing Zayn, making him want to throw a fit and probably injure him a bit, but that would break the moment and Harry’s lips were really soft. “Harry,” he couldn’t help but whine, and thankfully the other caught on quickly because he started thrusting properly and soon added another finger, and another later. Zayn didn’t let go of Harry’s hand for a second, which only made the fondness coiling in Harry’s insides increase just that much more.

“Do it,” Zayn said abruptly. Harry wasn’t the one supposed to be nervous but that didn’t stop him. He squeezed Zayn’s hand, and took out his fingers, wiping them on the sheets, covering his penis with lube, and holding Zayn’s knee as high as he could. He placed one final kiss to the crook of Zayn’s neck and pushed past the rim. Zayn groaned, his heart was racing and god, he’d missed this. Harry moved slowly until he was buried as far as he could go inside Zayn, waiting for some kind of signal that it was okay to move. After a couple of seconds Zayn nodded and again turned his head so he could kiss Harry.

Harry’s thrusts were lethargic and erratic, too lost in sensations and the heat radiating from Zayn’s fragile body. Zayn himself was one moaning mess, his mouth permanently half open, desperate to be touched and writhing every time Harry’s cock reached his prostate again and again. Harry’s hands moved everywhere, like he wanted to map every line in Zayn’s body, while the other’s were limited to gripping Harry’s hip and stubbornly pulling Harry’s other arm around him. “I—” Zayn cried as a warning before coming all over the sheets and himself. Harry rode him throughout, mimicking him a few moments later.

They lay there relaxed without changing positions until Zayn gathered up the energy to sit up and fetch something—a shirt—to clean himself up. When he came back, Harry was waiting for him with open arms and a blissful smile, and he was forced to ignore the sappiness of the scene because all he wanted to do was cuddle with Harry forever. The rain outside picked up again and he was grateful for Harry’s warmth keeping him comfortable.

“I love you,” Harry said against Zayn’s damp hair, running a finger along the boy’s spine.

“I love you too,” Zayn whispered, hiding his face against Harry’s chest and feeling stupid. He tightened his embrace around the Prince, and he could almost feel a dimple pressing against his cheek.

 

Harry didn’t fall asleep immediately despite being tired enough. Instead he found himself staying awake for entire hours before finally dozing off. It wasn’t that his mind was racing with loud thoughts that kept him awake, actually he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. It felt strangely nice and comforting. Usually he would get incredibly annoyed if his mind kept him up. But this moment right then was enough to settle his torturous brain. He held on to Zayn who had succumbed to sleep almost right away on Harry’s chest and unconsciously gripped tightly at his waist and held Harry in place with the weight of his legs. Harry didn’t mind.

From time to time he would shift a little and huff back into slumber. Harry stared, shameless and awestruck, at just how red Zayn’s half-open lips really were, as if they could stain his own pale skin, and how every little detail about him seemed to be flawless. And he would never in a million years admit to the mindless roaming his fingers took up along the servant’s arm, trailing paths across his back and massaging his scalp softly; revelling in the keening noises Zayn made in his sleep that were only for him to see.

 

 

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?” Zayn asked insistently.

Harry had asked Zayn to pack his belongings (mostly books and uniforms) the previous week and refused to tell him what for. He had been sleeping with the Prince almost on a daily basis for the past few weeks, giving him no chance to find out through any other person of what the other had been planning. All he knew was that he was currently in a small carriage, facing the Prince; that he had been for almost two hours now; and that he was thoroughly lost. He knew they were going north but that was about it.

“I didn’t tell you the first ten times you’ve asked since we left, and I will not tell you now. Patience.” Harry cracked one eye open from his spot, not even bothering to sit up as he addressed Zayn before trying to go back to sleep. 

“I can’t be patient! Just tell me!” He purred.

“Not happening. Now stop whining, it’s irritating.” Harry frowned but his eyes were still closed.

“That was rude.” He heard Zayn say in a mutter. He did open his eyes then, to find Zayn staring out the window resignedly. The landscape was awfully boring to him, just an endless line of white-coated trees and the occasional field. Zayn seemed fascinated, though, and he couldn’t help but smile fondly.

“Sorry, babe.” He held his arms out. “Come on, you’ll get a better view from this side.” It was a poor excuse to have Zayn next to him, but neither of them cared too much. Zayn followed Harry’s advice, and moved to sit next to Harry, who quickly pulled him close and pecked him on his temple. Zayn smiled too then, entwining his fingers with the hand that Harry had wrapped around him. “I promise you’ll like it.”

 

Somewhere along the way Zayn fell asleep in Harry’s lap (again) and didn’t notice when the carriage stopped moving. Only when the Prince stopped playing with his hair did he bother to open his eyes, just barely, finding the sun rather blinding. “Wake up!” Harry called like an excited little kid. “You’re gonna have to walk behind me until we get inside but… we’re here!” He went on and before Zayn’s brain was able to process, Harry had pecked him on the cheek and he was getting up and out into the world.

Winter would come to an end soon but the lawns were still frozen, preserved like crystals from dawn to dusk that would come to life again with the sun. Zayn was split between trying to take in as much as he could form the sight presented before him, and being ushered in between the royal entourage of Harry (and apparently Louis as well). His ears buzzed from the cheering of the commoners that had come to receive them and the greetings of the staff. Confused, he searched for the wild brown curls of Harry, who was being ushered farther and farther away from him.

He tripped on a stair when some faceless maid knocked him accidentally with her elbow, and for a moment the fear of causing a scene rushed a quick shock down his limbs, but then a strong hand gripped him and held him back. “Careful,” said a pair of soft brown eyes with crinkles at the sides.

“Liam?” It was more of a cry of joy than anything, though gladly nobody paid any attention to them. Zayn threw himself at his arms for a few seconds before the other boy suggested they should keep moving if they didn’t want to be crushed. “So what are we doing here?” Asked Zayn as they began walking.

“You don’t know?” Liam said and Zayn noted he sounded abnormally cheery. Everybody sounded abnormally cheery.

“Should I?” Zayn was kind of lost—in more than one sense.

“Well, maybe Harry’s going to surprise you.” Liam shrugged. Zayn had always been able to tell when Liam was keeping something from him. He was way too obvious but Zayn didn’t bother to push.

“Yeah, I figured that much myself.” He said. By now they were standing at the entrance of the palace. The commoners had remained at the bottom of the stairs and they were no longer yelling. Still a small crowd of staff and companions were all standing in between the giant columns of the entryway. “Wait—since when do you call him Harry?” Zayn spoke again.

“I said Prince.” Liam retorted quickly.

“No, you said Harry.” Zayn tried to get Liam to look at him but the other just fixated his gaze on the crowd.

“No, I didn’t.”

Now Harry had stopped walking and turned around to say something to his subjects. As always Zayn’s brain was too caught up to catch the words Harry was saying, but it probably wasn’t too important anyway. And he just couldn’t concentrate after the Prince gave him the quickest of glances that was just for him, a private, «I’m here and I’m thinking about you» that only Zayn could decipher. It was enough to ease his nerves.

He saw Niall approaching briefly from somewhere in the back to stand next to Liam, but his eyes inevitably jumped back to Harry, who wasn’t talking any more, and he noticed that everyone around him was clapping and cheering. Zayn smiled then, genuinely, for whatever reason, and started clapping too out of politeness.

 

As the entourage made its way inside first, Harry giving him an apologetic look before disappearing from sight completely, he was left with only Liam for a familiar face to guide him in this fantastic place. The both of them waited for everyone to leave (village people not included) before finally crossing the golden-trimmed doors. The first room they found themselves in was somewhat of a vestibule, now mostly deserted of course except for the guards, but Zayn spent a few seconds admiring his surroundings.

Zayn had never really travelled anywhere. He had grown up as a child in the same tiny village, and when he lost his family was taken by force somewhere he didn’t know. He didn’t remember anything about the trip truly, except that he had been bound with shackles and herded like cattle along with a few other people in the back of some kind of tumbrel. Back then he had been too young and too busy crying from fear to pay much attention to anything else. After that the cells where he had been kept for a few weeks, and then finally the castle. And that had been it for him as much as sightseeing went. So for him, seeing anything outside the gates of the King’s castle was very exciting if not a lot overwhelming.

The walls were white with some kind of design neatly painted all over them in between gold frames and landscape paintings and a candelabra in the centre. A few columns led the way to the next set of doors, much wider and permanently open, that led to a large corridor. It seemed to stretch on for miles with its never ending pattern of tiles.

He felt Liam take his arm and lead him towards a side door on the left, behind it was a large dining room already filled with people. The Prince wasn’t there yet but it looked like everyone was expecting him. Zayn recognised a few faces and knew that nobody was looking at him as he peered inside. The crowd was too engrossed in conversation and gossip anyways.

Liam closed the door again. Though there were no windows near, which made the palace seem a bit gloomy, the beautiful decorations glowed with the sunshine coming from both ends. The ceiling was impossibly high. Liam sat down on a chair and gestured Zayn to do the same across a small wooden table tucked against the wall that separated them from dining room. He noticed for the first time that Liam wasn’t wearing his usual uniform. This one was more elaborate, and it only added to the oddness of the day.

“What are we doing?” Zayn asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Well,” Liam said, all warm smiles, “once the Prince gets here we’ll have lunch, and then just wait here.”

“For what?” He pushed. “And we are going to have lunch here?” Emphasis on the word here. “Is that allowed… for—us?”

Liam grinned then, all teeth and bright eyes and Zayn thought Liam had lost it completely but also never looked so genuinely happy in the time he had known his friend, so chose not to mention it. “Yeah, it is.”

Zayn frowned momentarily. “Where even are we? What is this place?” He talked in a very low voice.

“You heard the Prince?” It was a statement but it came out as a question.

“I didn’t really pay attention,” confessed Zayn.

Liam seemed to ponder on this. “I think you should wait for him to explain then.” He said finally.

“Explain what?” Zayn was getting exasperated with all the secrecy.

Liam didn’t have to reply because at the turn from a staircase came the Prince, followed by one of his guards. He had changed his clothes to something even more elegant and wore all of his rings. He also had a stupidly wide, adorable smile on his face directed at Zayn, who was feeling like a proper idiot right in that moment. “I thought you might be cold. You know; the winter and all that.” He chirped but got no response from Zayn who was still staring in some kind of trance at a spot somewhere between Harry’s eyes. Harry didn’t acknowledge it though, as he simply threw some kind of dark velvet cape around his shoulders and leant in as the guard conveniently turned to look at a picture on the wall. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you all day,” he pecked Zayn’s temple. “I promise I’ll make it up to you after this, yeah?” And he stood up taller than Zayn had ever seen him; his dimples at full display but there was something akin to insecurity lurking behind his pupils.

“Yeah.” Zayn’s voice was soft and it seemed to satisfy the Prince.

 

Harry went in then, with the guard, and Zayn didn’t bother to go and pay attention to how he was doing, always having felt out of place with so many nobles around. Liam kept him occupied most of the time either way, talking and talking and rambling about the silliest of things—mostly Niall—but Zayn indulged him. Liam just looked too damn happy to spoil it with even a roll of the eyes. Zayn actually found himself paying attention and chuckling—laughing really—with him, softly of course, for the first time in his life, albeit he felt like he had missed some big occurrence everyone was keeping from him. But for a change he wasn’t worried.

The food arrived about half an hour later and now Zayn was kind of properly getting seriously alarmed. It was the type of meal that was probably being served at the other end of that wall. And so he realised; Harry was favouring him. Some part of Zayn felt the need to lecture the Prince and the other just felt so terribly fond of him. The fond bit was winning.

Liam and Zayn kept talking occasionally as they ate and long after while they still waited for the Prince to finish his lunch reunion. A warm feeling had been settling in Zayn’s gut for a while now and he suddenly felt the need to wrap himself tighter in the cape and revel in his excitement. Unconsciously, he was smiling a little brighter; he thought Liam might have noticed. He felt good.

As the hours stretched on, they ran out of things to comment on, and by the early evening they were in complete, comfortable silence. On occasion a servant would walk past or a door would creak while being opened, but aside from that, the palace was quite a quiet place. The sun set in early and the cold started to set into their bones, but they had been instructed to stay there, and it wasn’t like they would have known where to go, at least Zayn wouldn’t. A few guests left as soon as dusk came, and for a moment Zayn thought he would finally be able to see Harry, but no one else came out and they were left to wait again.

Sometime later Niall came along down the endless corridor and Liam’s face lit up as bright as the sun. Zayn just looked amused. Niall was beaming too. “Hey,” Niall cooed as he cupped Liam’s jaw softly with one hand. Liam, of course, went bright red, but managed to return Niall’s smile. “So,” Niall continued as he sat on the arm of Liam’s chair, “Harry’s thing should be over in like half an hour, which means you shouldn’t have to wait much longer.” He directed that last part at Zayn, who felt even more confused.

Niall was right, as it turned out, and after about forty minutes all the guests had gone and Harry was (finally) coming out the door with the Duke, who had a pretty girl by his side. Her face seemed vaguely familiar to Zayn, but for the life of him he couldn't tell from where. She seemed sweet, even amidst all the exaggerated decorations on her hair and her dress. There was no doubt she was a royal like the Duke.

“Zaynie,” Louis winked in his direction, causing him to widen his eyes. “And Liam.” The Duke nodded respectfully in his direction, which was yet another incredibly odd thing of today. Zayn thought that the world must surely be upside down. “This is Lady Eleanor.” He introduced her, his hand politely on her back.

The Lady grinned at Louis first and then at Harry, acting—as had everybody else that day—like she knew something Zayn clearly didn’t. She looked pleased though, as if she was proud of Louis. Harry looked so too, which is why Zayn repressed his sudden feelings of jealousy. Those weren’t as common nowadays, but even Zayn could tell that Lady Eleanor was incredibly beautiful. She appeared to be involved with Louis, and for the first time Louis actually appeared to be involved with her.

Maybe even Zayn was a little proud as well. Which, wow.

“Well,” Louis spoke again, “I’ve played nice. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going to go fuck in my rooms.” Louis smirked devilishly, and the Lady blushed. She didn’t seem offended in the slightest, surprisingly. They were definitely right for each other.

Happy enough, the couple said goodbye and retired to Louis’ chambers. Only then did Zayn notice the others’ faces. Liam was blushing madly, as he tended to do, and Niall looked sufficiently amused. Immediately the both of them made a silly excuse for why they absolutely had to leave right then. Zayn saw right through it, and probably Harry did as well. They accepted it nonetheless, and in no time Harry and Zayn were alone.

“You look beautiful, baby.” Harry said sweetly as he stretched his hand to play with the white streak in Zayn’s hair. Zayn had to restrain himself from purring into the Prince’s hand or something equally as inappropriate.

“Come.” Harry said suddenly. “I have a surprise for you.” He added excitedly, even more so than usual.

“Wasn’t this trip the surprise?”

Harry ignored the question, instead taking his hand openly and dragging him across not only this one, but so many other corridors that Zayn lost count. It was childish and giddy, the way Harry’s firm hand led him through this magical new place. Zayn took it all in with wide, eager eyes, though the Prince didn’t give him much time to really detail anything. Eventually they got to a hallway that ended in a huge, intricately wrought iron wall with a set of doors right in the middle. Harry opened them without hesitating and gestured for Zayn to come inside.

It was so beautiful, Zayn could have actually cried. They were inside a glasshouse with endless space. It was so much bigger than Harry’s back at the castle. There were infinite kinds of plants, and flowers Zayn could have never imagined. The smell was like nothing else. It smelled like spring in winter. And the temperature was warm inside, he was quick to note. Immediately Harry took Zayn’s cape off, ever the gentleman. Harry made them keep walking through, until they reached a fountain that was similar to the one in Harry’s glasshouse, though this one was much bigger and people could actually sit on its stone edge. Zayn sat down, overwhelmed.

“Harry, what on earth is this place?” Zayn asked, and even his voice sounded affected. He didn’t understand what was happening. He wasn’t even sure this was real life.

“Welcome to paradise.” Harry smiled, kneeling down in front of Zayn.

Zayn’s palms started sweating suddenly. “What?”

“We’re safe here, Zayn.” Harry smiled tentatively.

“Um.” Zayn tilted his head. He didn’t understand what Harry was saying at all. “You’re scaring me.”

“Okay, I’ve got news.”

Zayn nodded mutely. He was finding it hard to concentrate with the Prince like this. His cheeks were pink and his eyes were bright. His winter attire in all pastels, he barely seemed real. 

“First of all, do you like the palace?” Harry was looking carefully between both of Zayn’s eyes. It freaked him out a little.

He nodded.

“Good. Because we live here now. All this,” Harry gestured vaguely with his hand, “is mine.”

Zayn processed this. He thought it would be quite alright to live here. He wanted to hug Harry, but he had a feeling there was more, so he stayed put.

Harry smiled again, sweet and lovely. “There are some other things.” He swallowed. “My father… has asked me to abdicate the throne. And I did.”

Now, this was… huge. And unexpected. Zayn’s eyebrows arched up as far as they’d go. This changed so many things. The implications were endless. For one, why was he getting a palace then if he would not rule?

Harry proceeded. “He knows I won’t marry. Ever. I think he always suspected. And I think he knows about you too.” Zayn tensed. “Don’t worry, we’re fine. He’s agreed to keep me in the family as long as I keep a low profile. The last thing the crown needs is more scandal. Gemma is first in line anyways, and she actually wants to rule. I think she deserves it.”

“And…” Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, and then seized Zayn’s hand in between his.

“And?”

“And.” Harry held his gaze. “I am emancipating you.”

Zayn’s body grew cold. Nervous chills traveled through his spine.

“That means—” Harry continued, voice deep and velvety. Zayn’s eyes watered.

“I know what it means.” He whispered. “Harry…” His eyes searched frantically now between Harry’s own. He couldn’t— this couldn’t— “How?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to figure out my way around it, and…” Usually, Harry’s drawl was endearing, but right now it was going to make Zayn go mad. “I still have political power. And now that we’ve moved here, technically you belong to me, not to the King. So… I can declare you a free man.” Harry’s hands tightened around Zayn’s and so did his in tandem. “You will have papers. And you will be able to have an income and own land… And… You can leave here if you want.” Harry bowed his head, then looked back up. “I won’t stop you if you want to go and make your life somewhere else. But if you want to stay—with me—you can do so of your own free will. I have a set of rooms ready for you. They’re modest but I think you’ll like them. And you’re always welcome in my apartments. …Obviously.” Harry gave a private, lopsided smile, and Zayn burst out sobbing.

His body was having a thousand reactions all at once. He sank to the floor in front of Harry, his hands clutching the boy’s. He couldn’t stop staring with wide eyes at his lover’s face, tears steadily streaming down his face. Even Harry’s were a little glassy too.

“Zayn, you’ve cried so much. Please don’t cry.” He ran one palm against Zayn’s beautiful tan cheek.

He couldn’t help it, though. They just kept coming. “You’re serious.” He weeped. “I—I have a whip mark on my back. These things don’t happen.”

“They do happen. Look at me, Zayn.” His hand remained on Zayn’s neck. “I am the Prince of England, and I know what’s right. Whatever you decide, no matter what, you can do it as a free man.”

Zayn’s tears didn’t stop. If anything they got encouraged, but the happiness took over his features completely, freely. He threw himself in the arms of the Prince, holding on as hard as he could. “I love you so much, Harry, Jesus Christ. Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you so much.”

Harry kissed Zayn, and it was gross but it was perfect.

“So you’ll stay?”

“Of course I will. How could you think that I wouldn’t?” Zayn kissed Harry on the cheek. He didn’t ever want to let go.

“Good.”

“Harry…” Zayn mumbled. A thought suddenly occurred to him. “What about Liam?”

Harry grinned proudly, his arms going around Zayn’s smaller frame. “He will be directing staff from now on, and answering to me. He has a wage, and him and Niall have adjoined apartments.” He kissed Zayn’s head softly.

“What about me? What will I do now?”

Harry chuckled, if anything because Zayn’s old resistance was shining through. “Well, I was thinking, since you like reading so much, maybe you would be the librarian?”

Zayn beamed, truly beamed with wide, excited eyes, and his body relaxed.

“I would love that.”

“Do you want to go see the library?”

Zayn shook his head, so young. “I think I’d rather just go to your rooms now. We can visit ittomorrow.”

Harry just smiled and nodded. He stretched and pulled Zayn up, wiping his face carefully with a handkerchief. He put Zayn’s cape back on and guided him out of the room with one arm around his shoulders. Back inside stone columns and high walls, the cold wasn’t unwelcome at all. They just held each other a little closer.

 

_The end._

 

**Author's Note:**

> PS. I'd really love to hear what you guys think of this :)
> 
> And also let me know if I forgot any warnings pls really I haven't read the whole thing in forever


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